Truth or Tale (II): Blazing Brand
by kaispan
Summary: Edwin has plans for the wild-magic bard Sajantha, but the young woman who emerges from Irenicus's dungeon is not quite what he had been expecting. And plans have trouble staying organized around a Child of Chaos...
1. Dungeons

**[Author's Note]:**

Welcome to the _Truth or Tale_ series about an unlikely Bhaalspawn pacifist-idealist bookworm (who in BG:I made it her mission to befriend a certain cantankerous Red Wizard). If you are a new reader, you can catch up on some more character background: a prequel (of not-quite-carefree Candlekeep days) as well as the events of BG:I which are already posted. This series is primarily a focus on psychology, developing relationships, and slowly-changing character arcs, but I have tried to drop enough hints as to backstory that if you want to dive in, you should be able to navigate!

Rating~ We are dealing with rather dark subjects this round, so there is that (murder, death, torture, trauma, PTSD, depression). There _will_ be tonal changes, though, so it's not all doom and gloom! Some occasional mild swearing and some very occasional stronger swearing. The rating will eventually be upgraded to "M" (if you have concerns about that, send me a PM and I can get more specific).

Bonus~ On my profile page is a link to my deviantART account [artastrophe] that has a lot of BG character art including -okay, mostly- the characters from this story. I hope to upload some BG2 stuff soon!

* * *

=E=

Confessions extracted under torture lacked reliability. The smallest of windows existed, before healthy fear of preservation unraveled into total terror, at which point anything—truth or fabrication—might be said. Might be _believed_. No way to untie the two, when the subjects could no longer tell, themselves.

Take away all hope, and so quickly did sanity fly with it; nothing would be left worth obtaining. 'Twas a delicate line to walk, indeed: why Mae'Var had spent months on a single prisoner said more about the guild leader than anything they could learn from the lips of this 'traitor.'

Edwin stared down into the room at the stone table and the silent figure atop it (his voice never did last beyond the evening), and smothered a sigh. Disgusting, this. An afternoon—he could have had results within an afternoon! No more than a tenday, if deprived of magic. Not that this mess was worth being mired any further into.

Darker with every step of his descent down the creaking stairs, the air in the cellar thickened, as if the rainy season lingered on in the humidity. Was Amn always so warm in the spring? Or did Mae'Var wish to boil all these pieces he'd collected here into a human stew? The man was creative with his methods, if nothing else.

Wood protested as Edwin reached the base of the staircase; with naught to alert his glyph, he allowed the guards to take their customary posts behind him with little more than a tickle down his back.

Already full, the basement boasted far more of the rogues than necessary—Mae'Var _did_ so love an audience—one could not take a step in this guild-house without tripping over one or another lurking. Never enough to provoke actual alarm, just this ceaseless prickling of his tattoo. One more thing to be endured. (Not for much longer. Surely not for much longer.)

New faces. Four. Wearing mismatched leather garb and weapons they'd taken little trouble to disguise: no one of note in the City of Coin would dress so. Recruits, then. This was to be another 'demonstration,' no doubt.

"And what urgency calls me here today?" More interesting than the acquisitions he'd been assigning, at any rate, but even the guild leader knew better than to disturb him without reason.

"Ah, Edwin." Mae'Var's hushed voice lent the room a surreal quality, as if they must all await with bated breath what wonder he might next speak. "Would you tell these men what we do with betrayers?"

"If they cannot observe with their own eyes, I wonder that they have need of them?" Motivating these monkeys would be excruciating enough; Edwin strode past the recruits, granting them only a passing glance. Poor offerings, these, but the guilds had not been doing so very well of late. "The Shadow Thieves have a technique they use on traitors, gentlemen. They scoop the eye socket, making sure to do no damage to the nerves inside. The eye dangles along the cheek, watching the rest of the body being eviscerated. You can't look away, and you can't blink."

None of those eyes were upon him, now: all watched the body upon the stone slab. As if the wretch might do something more interesting than bleed. "So very crude, compared to what possibilities magic offers. Should you rather hear the techniques of we Red Wizards?" Not that this could be shortened into a single mouthful; the threat of the threat ought be enough.

Throats swallowed, feet shifted. Yes, even if in this gods-forsaken abyssal pit of a country, these fools knew of his kind.

"Are these recruits you've let in, or mewling kittens? I believe one of your 'men' just wet himself."

"They are _spies,"_ Mae'Var breathed.

A chill erupted down his chest, as if to confirm it—and confirm Mae'Var's judgment correct (this time)—one of these recruits was readying to fight his way out: Edwin's glyph could not be fooled.

The men shuffled but stayed standing, nothing to tell them apart with their pale faces and quick-blinking eyes, and they'd taken time enough. Pfeh. One of them, or all of them, it mattered not.

Edwin reached into his spell pouch. " _Vebren di ibafarshani nar."_ The eruption of flame flew from his fingers with nearly enough force to blow back his hood, drying his face, though little actual heat penetrated his robe's enchantment.

Wall scorched black behind them, the four figures slumped to the ground, and dying fires sparked trails across the crumbling ash of their skin.

The room fell silent but for a few scattered coughs.

"Hm." Mouth curling downward, Mae'Var appeared unmindful of the scalded stench. "That does not seem a bit… excessive?"

"I suggest you recall for what skills I was hired, and not bother me for anything less." How long must this charade of obedience continue? "(My talent with numbers is not in fact what I am famed for.)"

"You are the only one I can trust to delegate." Mae'Var's gaze shifted around before narrowing in on Edwin. "If you tire of your duties, though, we will discuss this later."

Gods. This was not enough to raise his suspicions, was it? Sudden, perhaps, but not _excessive:_ 'twas not as if the men would have met a different end once Mae'Var's paranoia had taken root.

"This one's still breathing!"

A flurry of activity bloomed around them—given purpose, now, the guards sprang into motion—they would bring in a new table, for their leader wouldn't yet be ready to replace his favored pet.

Mae'Var rubbed his palms together. "You can't ever be too careful." His smile stretched no further than his lips.

Edwin smiled back.

A hundred spells weighed for the purpose, yet nothing matched the appealing simplicity of thrusting one of those scalpels through the guild leader's eye. _Soon._ Infinitely more important matters awaited his attention. However much his quarry was taking her time to reappear.

Edwin frowned. The guards backed up a step, surrendering more than enough room for him to pass; the tickle on his back kept his spine straight even as the air lightened, welcoming him upstairs.

* * *

=S=

Metal hinges screeched, grinding through her ears and through the groove which had worn into her brain each time the cell door rattled open. Nowhere to go, but still she flinched.

Arms and knees folded up, her head ducked down between them as she sucked in the hot stink of her breath. (Trapped like she was trapped.) Her arms clenched tighter. Tight enough, and she wouldn't shake. _Don't look don't look don't see._

No confident strides, no firm footfalls, these: the footsteps came to a shuffling stop. Different, something different—what did it mean?—what would he _do?_

"Sajantha...?"

Cold bars clenched her back as she lurched away. Sajantha? Sajantha? The echo of the sound fluttered inside her; it burst into flight—light—and scattered shadows like cobwebs, sent them crawling from her mind. _Sajantha._

Sajantha looked up.

"Imoen." Her friend's name broke from her cracked lips, but she croaked it out again, "Imoen!"

Imoen's lips twitched like she started to smile, maybe wanted to. Too much effort (too much pain), a truth as sharp as knowing that standing would hurt, that moving would hurt as much as thinking.

Tottering to her feet, Sajantha was too tall. Her legs agreed—wanted to fold, to crouch down again—lower, smaller, forgotten. Safe. (Nothing was safe.)

"You're alive." She ran her hands through Imoen's limp hair, taking in her friend's sunken eyes and gaunt face with a relief that wavered like the vibrating thrum of a harp string, so taut and so soon to give way to silence. "I thought... I thought I..."

"Shh," said Imoen, "shh." Her arms came up, pulled Sajantha tight. Embracing, they didn't have to look at each other. Her eyes burned like dark holes through Sajantha's eyelids.

They stood there for a goodly breath, unmoving but for a slight sway, as if neither could decide whom held the other up. One of them shook or both of them did; how to tell them apart, when she couldn't find her own edges any longer? Sajantha trembled with violence enough to unravel them both.

"We'd better get moving." Imoen pulled back, and the chill of the air took over the space she had been, cold against Sajantha's damp cheeks.

She took in an unsteady breath, and cold sank from her lungs to her bones.

"C'mon," Imoen looked back from the doorway, "let's get out of here." She held her hand out—an invitation. (A warning.)

Sajantha's feet caught at the edge.

The hand closed 'round her wrist, started tugging. "Sajantha–"

He was watching. He was always watching. This was another test—it was always a test—he was watching; he was testing her.

Imoen's fingernails dug into Sajantha's arm as she twisted away, but the only pain was the pressure in her ears, high and piercing as the cry she held back in her throat.

A crack had divided the floor. Thin, it split the cell, a fracture deep as a gulf she could not cross.

"He'll come back." Shaking her head, she tried to reclaim her fingers—her footing—but Imoen wouldn't have it; her tug began to pull Sajantha over the lip of the cell.

"N-No–!" Bar by bar slipped from her, with no strength to keep them close. "Please—please, _no_. He'll come back. I can't," she gasped, "I _can't."_

"Come _on!_ " Imoen's voice broke, but her grip stayed firm. "I don't think I could escape again. We have to go. We have to go _now_. Please. Please come with me. You have to come with me." Fingers tugged, again. Dark eyes (holes) glimmered almost bright.

Sajantha took a shaky breath, took a shaky step, and the world did not end outside of her cage.

She took another step, and though her clenched muscles protested—set her stumbling—the world did not end. He did not appear, his voice did not frost the air; no, all the ice was on her insides.

Sajantha took one more step and then another, and then she was running—muscles screaming in pain and triumph as the cold metal grid nipped at her bare feet—she would get out of here, she would see the sky again, breathe real air, leave this darkness behind (leave _him_ )–

The hallway ended.

Stark gray walls pressed in all around her—everywhere—over her head, a shrinking box (a coffin). Sajantha slowed, but her heart did not, kept trying to pound free of her like it didn't realize they had stopped. That there was nowhere to go. _Run,_ it said. Screamed. _RUN RUN RUN._

Darkness grew at the edges of her eyes and everywhere she turned: stone and iron and those instruments that hung gleaming (dripping) from the walls, and she knew what each of them did (what they would do) and he would come back (on his way already) he would—he would—

"Sajantha." Imoen waved at her. "Over here."

 _Here._ Her attention anchored: the hulking shadow in the cell beyond had a somber face, a face that lightened just a little when it saw them. A familiar face, even absent of the broad smile he'd always wear.

Used to wear.

"Where's Dynaheir?" Imoen asked Minsc.

The big man hung his head; shadows from the bars glided over his bare scalp. "They—they killed her, as I watched. I… I failed my witch."

Locked in beside him, Jaheira kicked at the bottom of her own cell, hands turning to white claws as they gripped the bars. "Khalid–!"

The swell of sound in Sajantha's head was swallowed by silence, like a dark curtain swung to close it off.

Jaheira looked over at her, and Sajantha took in a gulp of air. Noiseless, now, but for the ringing in her ears left behind. Jaheira had asked a question.

"What?" Quiet—but not soft enough for a whisper—her voice came out hard and cracked.

"Khalid," Jaheira said again, "have you seen him?"

Shaking her head, Sajantha bit down on her knuckles _. No._ No crying (no begging no screaming). No. _No._ Khalid—

Someone—Imoen—took her hand, pulled it away from her. _Red._

"No." The word fell out of her mouth; it tasted like blood.

* * *

Out of here—they needed to get out of here—but there was dead-end after dead-end, and doors with locks that Imoen couldn't pick, with strength that Minsc couldn't counter; there was only one way to go, one dark tunnel to travel down.

What if... what if he was just waiting for them (a test another test) when they reached the end?

Little pools lined the pathway; strange images floated in the water, reflecting colors—scenes?—that weren't really there. Did… did anyone else see them? They all kept walking, so Sajantha did, too. (Don't look, don't see.)

She stepped into Minsc's solid back as he came to a sudden stop—smoke filled the space around them, colorful ribbons swirling out to block their way—a figure formed to fill the hall. (Him—him? No. Not him not him not him.) _A... a djinni._

Words wrapped 'round her, as if energized from the same wind whirling beneath him: a twisting tangle took over Sajantha's chest and squeezed her breath away. _Will you push the button?_ A riddle. He'd have a riddle for them, wouldn't he? Questions with no answers, a game to play and no way to win, no way to refuse—

The floor shook beneath her, a roar, a rain like pebbles and grit crashing through her mind.

But no one else noticed; no one else had moved.

Except the djinni was waiting. Had he… had he been speaking? What. What game, this time? "Will you push the button?" he asked.

His words kept clanging inside her head—echoed by a memory—Sajantha clenched her teeth.

"We already played your game," Imoen told the djinni, and her brow wrinkled up as she growled, "Get out of our way!"

Laughter bloomed all around them as the figure faded out, leaving a view of an empty hallway stretching on before them.

Imoen turned towards her, and Sajantha looked away. "Better check for traps."

* * *

A coiled metal monster filled the next room, like something out of an extra-planar tale: a great mechanical device armored with gears and pipes and cogs, crouching as it spewed steam and filled the air with a strangely acrid stink.

"Looks like something crawled out of one of Gond's nightmares." But then Imoen had to jump back, for a handful of scaled creatures broke through the cover of fog, darting towards the group in a flurry of leathery wings and sharp claws.

"Mephits!" Minsc shouldered Sajantha out of the way and used his fist to knock one of the devils to the ground, where its small body crunched beneath his large foot; she ducked as another one tore past, and a solid _thwack_ said it had met Jaheira's stave.

"Shut it off!" Imoen tried to point towards the silver structure while wrestling a mephit to the floor. "Try that big switch, there—!"

Jaheira hurled herself forward, disappearing as the cloud enveloped her, but she must have managed something, for a great shuddering click shook the room.

And Imoen cried out in triumph—" _Nil'gnosi nar vis!"_ —a flare of magic flew from her fingers and the mephit attacking her went still.

Magic.

Jaheira batted another of the creatures away, but one streamlined straight towards Sajantha—

" _Nil'gnosi nar vis."_ Sajantha threw her hands forward, but—

But.

The mephit slammed into her with a frenzy of talons, opening little tears all along her arms as she protected her face.

A chirping cry (a snap): she opened her eyes as Minsc's arms twisted and dropped the reptile in a limp heap. "Is Sajantha hurt?"

She unfolded stiffly. "This?" These red lines weren't deep enough to matter. "Just scratches." But…

The hum of electricity remained in the air, a buzzing that tickled at the hairs of her neck even after the machine shut off; she leaned back against a wall worn with rust and grunge (it couldn't make her any dirtier), and sank to the floor.

A _mephit._ Minsc had intervened quickly enough, but…

Imoen slid to a seat beside her. "That machine—did you feel that? It was powering an anti-magic field. We can cast again!"

Had she not noticed? "I can't." So long (too long) since the Weave had answered her, long enough to forget the lyrics to that song, for its tune to fade from her mind. "It feels like… like there's nothing there." Sajantha flexed her fingers: they looked different. Wrong. Thin skin stretched over thin bones and nails all broken: these scrawny, fragile things could not belong to her.

"That must be how he kept us cut off from the Weave. I didn't know you could do that? Even with a machine. I couldn't cast nothing, either." Imoen looked over at her. "Did he do the same thing to you?"

A black spot floated in Sajantha's brain, like a hole in her vision, a spot that jumped when she moved her eyes; it wouldn't stay still for her to examine. "I don't remember." The shadow flickered. (Don't look, don't see.)

"Your magic's always been different." Imoen half-shrugged. "Guess it doesn't matter so much." She stood back up. "You probably just need some sleep. Maybe after you rest."

"Right." But how to believe it, how to believe enough rest might change anything? _The dirt nap._ She took a breath and fixed her eyes on Imoen; her friend's warm brown hair stirred as she turned away.

 _Did he do the same thing to you?_ Imoen's eyes stared out like scars, gouges on her face (black black black holes). Dark, dark, everywhere so dark. Everything.

On the far side of the room, Jaheira paused her pacing with a look back at them. An expectant look.

"Let's get out of here." Imoen stood, hugging her arms. "I can't stand this place another second."

* * *

But nowhere else they found was any better. Like the room with jars too big—big enough for people—but those pieces inside couldn't be people. Not anymore.

"Cover your eyes, Boo." Minsc held his familiar close to his chest.

Grimy tubes stretched from floor to ceiling with some manner of occupants floating within. Sajantha's hand stretched to the nearest one—why?—the coldness of the glass woke a coldness in her belly, a shiver traveling through her. A figure here, yes, but—was there a face?—obscured by the clouded glass or… or… faceless? A shadow moved. Bubbles. Was it trying to speak? (Scream?)

"Unplug it." Imoen's whisper was fierce, forceful. "Them things aren't alive anymore. Not really. Just—just let it die."

 _Death is pretty._

When Sajantha's gaze flew to her, Imoen bit down on her lip, chapped and red. Had she spoken that? (Had Sajantha?) No. No, never. Why would…

 _Godchild._ The ghost of a blade chilled her skin.

No. Her fingers flexed. _No no no._ No blade. Sajantha pressed her face into her friend's shoulder, (empty) hands reaching out, and Imoen reached back, her arms soft and warm.

"It's better this way," Imoen explained, her voice a tickle against Sajantha's ear as she tightened their embrace. She had said it. _She_ had said it.

 _Pretty._

Pretty was the paint on Imoen's bare toes, the few cracked pieces of pink still polishing the tips. Sajantha's birthday gift to her. How… how long ago?

Sajantha stepped back on the cold tile, let go of her friend, and looked up.

Jaheira's hand shook as she removed the power cells; the tube went dark, the bubbles stopped (dead). "What manner of madman's lair is this?"

Madman? Blue eyes cut through her vision, their ice lingering even as she blinked them away. Sajantha raised her hand to her mouth, her voice trembled out through her fingers. "We have to get out of here." (He would come. He was coming.) Get out get out _get out—_

Imoen's fingers threaded through her other hand and squeezed. "Right behind ya."

Sajantha took in a breath. Alright. Imoen was alright. Maybe… maybe it would be alright.

 _Maybe after you rest._

Rest.

Maybe.

"We keep moving." Jaheira secured the grip on her stave. Hefted it. "I'll rest when I am dead."

"There is no rest for heroes!" Minsc agreed. "Not when evils must be avenged!"

But there weren't any exits, either, just more and more rooms, worse and worse.

* * *

=I=

Imoen pressed closer to Minsc as they rounded another dark tunnel. Just out of sight, something dripped; each drop may as well have landed on her back, the way it tingled. "I'm scared, Minsc." She kept her voice real quiet, so it wouldn't get sent back, like the racket of footsteps all around them. "I'm awful scared." What would they find around the corner?

"We are heroes," he said, like it was an answer, like it was all they needed. "We must take our strength and comfort from this when we cannot find it elsewhere."

That… yeah. That made sense, didn't it? The big guy's voice was toned down way more than normal, but still reassuring. She leaned against his massive arm and gave it a hug. "You go 'n say the wisest things, sometimes."

"All of my wisdom comes from Boo."

"I sure could use a Boo of my own right about now." And as long as she was wishing for things, how 'bout some elven eyes to see in this gloom? She kept scanning the ground anyway, even though they'd run into more crazies and guards than traps. "If he packed so many people in, we know there's gotta be a way out, huh?"

Jaheira's steps were tight ringing echoes along the floor. At least _she_ still had some boots. "I am not looking for the way out. I am looking for my husband."

"Gods! You know I'd never leave him behind." No way Jaheira had meant to throw that glare at Imoen so hard as she did, but it still hurt. "That ain't what I meant."

Jaheira knew that—she had to know it!—but the druid didn't look back, just kept up her determined stride, gripping her staff so tight you could almost hear her knuckles grinding. "I will not rest until he is by my side. Silvanus, hear me!" Her voice echoed all about, like the narrow tunnel they'd just stepped into called them a greeting. Dark dark and more dark. Whatever waited for 'em, couldn't be nothing good.

Almost brought to mind the first time they'd gone exploring in the dark someplace they shouldn't have, though at least that time they'd gone and made a friend. Imoen nudged Sajantha. "Miirym'd be just at home in a place like this, don't you think?"

Her friend flinched, then frowned as she rubbed her arm, like she didn't know why she was doing it. "The darkness eats away with tiny teeth." Her voice was a bare hair below a whisper, barely more than a breath.

What…? That scrambled nonsense sounded like something half-mad Miirym would say. _Had_ she said that? Or… was Sajantha going just as scrambled?

"You…" Imoen cleared her throat. "You here with me?"

Sajantha wasn't looking at her. "Trapped. She's still trapped. I've got to get her out; I have to—!" Her fingers dug into her hair.

"Hey. _Hey._ Sajantha." Imoen's arms were weak as she raised them, like her muscles had forgotten how to move; the short sword she'd looted off them goblins weighed way more than it should've, and hauling it around without a holster had worn her out just from walking.

She patted her friend's shoulder, taking in a deep breath. "We'll get out first, okay? We get ourselves out first of all, and right afterward we'll go looking for another mess to keep us busy." Setting free a crazy, cursed dragon from an ancient binding had to get bumped down the list. "Yeah?"

One heartbeat—two—as Sajantha just stared at her. "Right," she said at last, nodding. "Alright. Okay."

"One thing at a time." Imoen tried to smile at her.

The hall opened up into a wide-open room, and Imoen took a step back, all the strength sucked out of her, like a vampire had got too close. But there wasn't anything undead here—not even anything dead, for once—and somehow the lack of that was harder to face than any of the rooms before, when there wasn't nothing creepy or crawly or trying to kill them.

This place was _alive._ Green and growing.

The dirt, all moist and earthy, was soft enough to make her sore feet cry in relief, to make the rest of her want to feel it, too, to just fall over and bury herself in all cozy. _The dirt nap,_ she almost said, almost laughed, but Sajantha might just start laughing at that—because she would understand, wouldn't she?—and that thought only hurt.

But maybe if she could just stand here a moment, let the soil sink between wiggling toes, close her eyes and just—

 _Someone was here._

It started off as a whisper, like wind dancing through the tree leaves above them, only it came from all around.

Imoen gripped her sword. But… the figures approaching them didn't have no weapons. Didn't have no clothes. And didn't look like they had a speck of fighting in them, nor any will to try.

Minsc was the first to lower his weapon. "Lovely lady trees…"

"Dryads." Jaheira didn't have no trouble identifying them.

Those were good creatures, right? Nature. Trees. Good things, yeah, and there hadn't been anything sane enough to have a conversation with 'til now. "Do… do y'all know the way out of here?"

The three women watched them, all quiet, 'cept for hair all a-rustle from a breeze that only hit them. "We are trapped here, as you." Their large fey-eyes blinked, holding in the kind of sad that said they'd given up. "But we can go nowhere without our trees."

 _Trapped._ None of them belonged down here. Heat pricked in Imoen's eyes, blurring everything to one big smear of green. "So beautiful," she murmured. "So beautiful, I almost can't see you."

"Is this a dream?" Sajantha asked, and for half a moment this place almost made sense.

The dryads looked at each other. They smelled of the outdoors, of sunny days and blue skies, all fresh and wild. But browns and reds dried the edges of their leafy-green hair. "No, child."

"Do you think this is a safe place to rest?" Minsc asked, giving Sajantha a concerned look. "Also," his voice brightened a little, "Boo wonders if perhaps the nice ladies have any nuts?"

Jaheira shook her head. "We need to keep moving." Her gaze caught on Sajantha, too.

The druid was a healer, wasn't she? Maybe she could sense… Imoen gestured, keeping her voice low, "You think… you think she'll be alright?" Once they were out of here, right? Sajantha would be alright.

"I…" Jaheira looked away. "I need to find Khalid."

She—but she couldn't just blow it off like that! Something inside Imoen shivered, a tightness to clench her hands or stomp her feet. "Jaheira—"

The druid whirled on her, nostrils flaring. "I don't know— _I don't know!_ But I cannot think of _anything_ until I find my husband!"

 _Khalid._ Imoen swiped a hand over her eyes. "I'm scared, too, okay?" Scared and sick and tired. But what if they couldn't? What if they couldn't find Khalid _or_ find an exit? Or what if something else found them first? Plenty of creatures and things wandering about down here.

And… _he_ could always find them. Better hope them 'intruders' were keeping the creep busy; Mask-Face had teleported off quick enough after that golem had warned him, though he'd seemed more annoyed than worried at being under attack. Not that you could tell all that much with those weirdly frozen expressions of his, the way his eyes could look just as dead as... as...

Imoen shivered. What the hells _would_ worry that madman? Well. It didn't matter none, didn't matter if the intruders beat him or not, just so long as they distracted him long enough to make good this escape of theirs. _Escape._ Right. Better hurry after Jaheira.

Sajantha was staring up at the greenery, the calm on her face looking right eerie. "Like the Lushpool Court. Do you remember?" Her eyes were real distant, like she could see all the way back home, back to that courtyard of hanging plants and vines she used to play her harp in.

"Yeah." Imoen swallowed. "I remember." She reached out and took Sajantha's hand and her friend's eyes focused in on her. Bit of clarity. Good. "But we've got to go."

Sajantha scanned the group ahead of them, a frown growing on her face, along with some kind of realization. "Where's Dynaheir?"

"She's..." Imoen sent Minsc an uneasy look, but the big guy was listening to Boo. "She's gone."

"Khalid?" Sajantha took a step back as they all turned to look at her. "I don't know. Why would I know?"

* * *

=S=

They all saw him, soon enough. Up on the next floor. (And all the way across it.)

The room was too hot. Sajantha's eyes were too hot, the whole inside of her head; a pain hummed through her bones, her teeth, as it burned in the back of her throat and squeezed.

Khalid's eyes stared up, empty. Empty as the cavern carved out of his chest. Insides on the outside.

Jaheira's shrill scream shook the air; she shook off Minsc and Imoen and all the sympathy they offered. "Words are nothing!" But they still hung in the air, a thousand cries and accusations inside Sajantha's head and outside it.

Inside and outside, implode or explode. The shouts clashed to a crescendo 'til she shook with them, shook them out. _Quiet_. A white noise, a hum that muffled all other sounds: all these mouths moved with no sound at all.

The cold came back, rippling goosebumps along her skin. Every breath hurt, tight. No outlet to release the energy that built up inside her—her magic was gone—something still bubbled up, swirling in her gut: a chill that seized and clenched all her muscles at once, a fullness, as if something lay submerged inside her that she might vomit out.

Sajantha's stomach clenched again, but she could only heave, dry—still it drained something free of her—eyes watering, head spinning, her knees hit the ground and ice seeped through her skin.

Whatever rested heavy inside her—she took a breath and it grew, swelled, filled her head, her vision; she blinked away black–

A streak of light: a hand stretched out. "C'mon, Sajantha," Imoen whispered, the shadow of a smile on her lips, but only shadows in her eyes.

* * *

=I=

Imoen kept her eyes fixed ahead. No point in looking back. Nope. Keep going. Only now _she_ was the one who had to remind them: "We've got to keep moving," she told them. Jaheira, Sajantha. The ones lagging behind. "We're getting close."

They had to be. More 'n more fights were breaking out everywhere—except they were between Mask-Face's guard-creatures and these fellows all geared-up with hoods—causing enough of a ruckus to let a tired little group creep on by around them.

Looked like these 'intruders' were coming in real handy, slicing through golems and blowing walls up left 'n right; who needed to follow the rules of this maze when you could do something like that? The intruders were the only reason they'd got out. Or however close as this was to 'out.' "Real close." Half-promise, half-prayer. Imoen had got herself out of that cage, she'd get them out of here, too.

The ground rumbled a bit, setting off some hollering far-away. _Yeah, keep that bastard busy._ This was the first thing like a chance to pop up—in days and days _and days—_ so they'd better not waste it; you took what Lady Luck offered and you made use of it. Like this Kara-Turan they'd stumbled into—or had stumbled into them—some mephits chasing behind. At least they could still clean up _mephits_ alright.

It was important, having numbers. You could do more, be stronger, when someone had your back, when you knew you weren't alone.

Imoen didn't look back at Jaheira.

The new fellow hadn't been left in as bad a shape as the rest of them, either, still fresh on his feet. Maybe just kept in the waiting wings, like Minsc and Jaheira had been, waiting to be useful. To be used. This man—'Yoshimo,' he'd introduced himself with a bow and an easy smile worn a little rough by their surroundings—hadn't been one of Mask-Face's active subjects. The marks _that_ left were clear to see. Even the ones not on the outside.

Imoen glanced at Sajantha, Sajantha who was staring blankly forward as she walked, 'cept for every sudden sound when her eyes would dart all over.

"Is she… alright?" Yoshimo nodded towards her, as tactful as he could manage, but he looked about as uneasy for Sajantha as he did at the battles they kept skirting 'round. Was he worried about her? Or just about her slowing them down?

Imoen gave a slow shake of her head. "I think we're about as far as we can get from 'alright.' " No— _no_ —they weren't, for Tymora had gifted them a chance and that wasn't a thing to scoff out, how quickly luck could turn. Things were looking up now, and that wasn't a thing to spit in the face of. Some of them making it out was better than none, after all, right? Yep. Yes, sir. "We'll pull through, though."

You had to… you just had to focus on the bright side. Even if everything in here was all dirt and darkness, and wasn't no light strong enough that it didn't cast a stronger shadow. No. _No._ Don't think like that, don't think of the way Sajantha's eyes had lit up when they'd found the false forest, then gone so quickly dim.

Imoen tore her gaze from the cold floor. This feller's boots didn't make no noise as he walked next to her, but then he could balance his weight all proper without feeling metal pinching at bare feet.

"Hey. You're the only one of us with enough reflexes left to be useful." He'd even scrounged up—or kept hold of—his own equipment, better than the mismatched pieces the rest of them had managed. "You… you watch out for her, okay?" Bear-sized Minsc made for the best sort of bodyguard, but he was moving awful slow and paying more attention to his hamster than anything else. "I dunno how much help the rest of us'll be if we hit another wave." They hadn't been in much shape to fight, even before the little pockets of patrols they kept walking into.

He considered it—or her?—a moment, and then gave her a real deliberate nod, looking all serious. "I will be sure to keep an eye on her."

Imoen gave him a nod right back, only hers probably not quite so confident. But this was good; it was just what Sajantha needed, someone looking out for her: the more someones the better, especially when Imoen couldn't quite hold up her end of things.

The blood down her arm had dried—damn dwarves!—but that sure didn't help swing her sword any harder, not the way it still ached. Magic, though. Maybe she could move enough to cast a spell or two, as foggy as all that Draconic was in her mind. And if she kept reciting the spell-words in her head, she wouldn't have to think about… anything else.

Sajantha wouldn't be no help there, either, for she'd up and quit casting last year. Well. She'd _said_ she'd quit, but she'd sneak a spell or two when she thought no one was looking; she loved magic too much to just give it up like that, however hard she'd tried for Imoen, since that wild surge had come so close to killing her.

The burn scars from that had mostly faded. But Imoen had some more scars, now. And so did Sajantha, if all that blood on her shirt was any clue. She'd gotten it into her head that she couldn't cast anymore, but given the state of her head, who really knew?

She'd be fine, though. After a rest. After they got out of here. Sure she would. Yep. They'd all be fine. All of them that weren't Dynaheir or Khalid… or the rest of them stuck thinking about Dynaheir and Khalid…

Jaheira's steps had slowed to something short of a shuffle, like the too-deep tired had finally caught up with her, strides that wouldn't stay steady. _Dead on her feet._

"I…" But then she straightened. "I think I see light ahead."

Her half-elven eyes saw better than Imoen's; it took a moment squinting through the grayness before the spot of light got bigger. An illusion? A trap? Or…

"An exit!" Minsc whooped, his big body perking up, and his smile kindled a little something inside her, something that everyone else felt, too: the way feet could suddenly move faster, the way air could suddenly flow through tired, tight lungs.

"We made it." _Thank Tymora._ Imoen grabbed Sajantha's hand as they reached the incline, got her to pick up speed. Almost got her to smile.

* * *

=S=

Sun warmed Sajantha's back but couldn't soak in far enough, not past the layer of ice still coating her after… after…

(Him.)

No. _No._ He wasn't here—out, they'd made it out—but…

These shapes made no sense. All the pieces of people, but put together wrong, nothing familiar out here where the light stung her eyes. Sajantha blinked up at the figures around her, back-lit into silhouettes, nearly featureless. "Who are you?"

"We met him in the dungeon, Sajantha." Jaheira's voice was measured, even, and still didn't flatten out her impatience. "He helped us escape."

"I am called Yoshimo," the silhouetted-man said.

The edges of him faded in and out of focus. Sajantha's eyes tightened. "I don't know you."

"I was imprisoned as well; I mean you no harm."

"No." His cheerful voice grated; her teeth clenched as she stumbled away. "Don't. Stay away from me."

"It's alright! He's a friend."

Friend? Her neck ached, but she lifted her head to look around. The sun burned spots into her eyes, however she squinted. Light fragmented off tiled domes in a thousand facets, as bright and busy as the crowded market: a clash of color and sound all loud and smeared into each other. An arena, almost, with the stalls that ringed the edges, layers and layers stacked up and up and up to box them in—

The noise competed with the pressure in her ears 'til it all rang together.

Sajantha lowered her gaze to the faces around her. "Where's... where's..." Too many missing faces, and the ones that remained stared back at her, bleak. No. _No no no._

Head spinning, she looked away, gripping her temples. No thick curls sprang to meet her fingers: her hair hung limp and flat. "It's not real. This isn't real." It couldn't be. She tried to step away, but her feet wouldn't listen—neither would the rest of her—pain pierced as she tried to straighten, and bowed her over, instead.

Hands glided over her back; in the air hung the syllables of a spell that once offered relief, but now–

"No!" She thrashed away from the healing magic (pain pain it only meant more pain); her scream got caught in her throat, a wet tangle of a sob.

The hands reached after her—arms too long to escape, too strong to escape; they turned her around, then held her face as she tried to push away. "Look at me—Sajantha— _look at me_. You are not a prisoner. You are free. I am not going to hurt you. You're safe."

Jaheira. Jaheira stared at her with emerald eyes and a face of granite. With a knot of words that needed unraveling. Safe. _Safe._ It didn't mean anything.

"How do you know?" Sajantha touched her chest; her heart fluttered, frantic, beneath her fingers. "I let him—I let him—no!" She jerked back, and this time Jaheira let her. "No more. Don't touch me." How many times had he healed her? (As many times as he...)

He _had_ come back. He'd come back, but no knives, this time _._

No Imoen.

"Where is he—where did he go?" Behind them lay the blown-out remains of a tunnel: bricks and bodies scattered all over. Flashes filled her vision, memories of magic: "Imoen. He took Imoen."

She tucked her hands under her arms, but they shook, shook so hard that all of her trembled. Her mouth didn't work right, either; the words dribbled out. "Where did they go?" Numb, her lips were numb, and all of her as stiff and cold. Her legs stopped working, too, let her know with a stomach-dropping lurch as they gave out and left her sprawled on the ground. "Imoen."

Minsc and Jaheira stared down at her.

Not Dynaheir.

Not Khalid.

Not Imoen.

"Oh." Her heart stopped working, squeezed and split and stuttered; she dropped her head in her hands. "Oh, my gods." Not real, no. Couldn't be— _it couldn't be—_

"This is Athkatla. I recognize this place."

Not talking to her anymore, no; the stranger directed his words to the others. Who needed words? _Words are nothing!_ Jaheira had screamed. They didn't need words, not that stranger's voice trying to be comforting but he didn't know he didn't _know_ and this wasn't even happening; it couldn't be. Close her eyes, if she just closed her eyes, when she woke up when they opened it would be alright _it would all be alright_ Imoen would be alright.

A hum vibrated through Sajantha's ears. The faces looked down at her: it was coming from her— her lips her mouth her chest—but she held it in, did not give it the breath to become a wail; she choked it she smothered it she strangled it back to nothing.

"There is an inn, not too far from here. Not the best company, I'm afraid, but we can't afford to be picky."

 _Maybe after you rest._

Minsc lifted her up, his face full of too much sadness to focus on; Sajantha held on with her cheek pressed against the chains of his armor so she didn't have to look at him, didn't have to look at anything—or feel anything but his heavy, steady tread—'til they arrived at their destination.

Like the Mermaid, this inn looked like the Blushing Mermaid, dark and dismal and full of strangers with cruel eyes that crawled, lingering like the sweaty stink in the air all over her skin.

 _Don't be such a wimp, Sajantha,_ Imoen said.

Jaheira hadn't said anything. Wasn't she supposed to? Say something, do something. Fill in the blanks of the silence that grew, grew so tall to loom over them.

"Four rooms," she told the innkeeper. Like everything was normal. Like everything was alright. Jaheira (and Khalid), Minsc (and Dynaheir), Sajantha (and Imoen). Yoshimo.

(Edwin.)

So many things missing nothing fit together anymore not these pieces of people not the words in her head.

Jaheira turned to her, a terrible depth to her eyes as she stared; when she spoke, it sent a jolt through Sajantha. "You need to sleep."

"Why? How will that help her?"

"It will help you."

 _It might not help her, but I think it might help you,_ Imoen had said. Of Miirym. Of playing the harp. Gods, Miirym! The spell—those years of research—was gone her harp was gone her father gone gone gone every little piece he'd left her.

Sajantha touched her neck, but her necklace—his ring, and Oghma's symbol—was gone, too. Nothing, nothing left, yet it bit and tore at all her edges.

"Get some rest."

Minutes later, or hours (drip drip drip each second left her), Sajantha stretched out flat atop the covers and stared at the shapes twisting on the ceiling. However far behind his dungeon, the shadows would still know where to find her.

 _Maybe after you rest._

But it was better to leave her eyes open to the blackness of the empty room than to what waited when she closed them.

* * *

=E=

He was not alone.

Someone—some _thing_ —had slipped through his wards, not activating them, not dispelling them: _not possible._

Throwing back the bedcovers, Edwin fumbled for the wand beneath his pillow as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and narrowed in on the mismatched shapes forming from shadows at the foot of his bed.

Moonlight filtering through the curtains turned the scene even more surreal as it glowed upon this strange trio of creatures that did not move.

He did not move either, even as his outstretched arm began to ache. Yet… something sharpened in the back of his mind as the grainy fragments of sleep fell away. "Speak."

"Athkatla," came a creaky whisper from a half-transparent long-limbed being. It folded in on itself, faded away.

Bearing his arcane mark. Still bound: the only way they'd passed his warding.

"Athkatla." The sound scratched, slippery, like nails across glass, and the second speaker melted through the floor.

Not hostile. Of course not, his glyph would have warned him. He lowered the wand.

"Athkatla," sighed the last, expanding in a fog, dispersing 'til it disappeared.

Edwin sat in silence, evening his breaths; the night air settled a chill upon his sweaty skin.

 _Months_ ago the outsiders had been given their tasks—one after another with no results—and only now had something to report? Whatever had been blocking their search had ceased doing so. Why?

He slipped out of bed, summoning his robes to him. 'Why' did not matter, not now—only one thing did—

She was here.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** Thank you for reading! I would not have made it this far or this long without the support and encouragement from readers (and you all have the extraordinary and extraordinarily-marvelous Kyn to thank for the fact I am uploading this now instead of holding off for... what would possibly be forever), so giant huge thanks to all of you who are able to take time to comment; I know it can be really hard which just makes me appreciate it even more. ^^ (I am writing to learn and improve, so critical feedback is just as greatly appreciated as positive feedback!) I've been working on this story for a rather obscene amount of time haha but I end up getting stuck on advancing it and instead get caught on stupid editing details, so I'm hoping posting this will help keep me on-track to make progress more efficiently; it helps keep me accountable knowing people are reading it. ;)


	2. Awake

=E=

Poring over Mae'Var's unkempt records to assign new recruits (few though they were) with old had balanced out productivity and increased returns, yet the paperwork grew no more interesting for all its impressive results; Edwin's mind remained determined to dwell upon the one factor he could not account for: _she was here._ But where?

His absence would be noted, Raviwr's would not: news must be awaited from his familiar. His patience had endured this long, had it not? He could continue waiting. It would work; it must work. The alternative did not bear thinking of. All the pieces were in place. All but one.

Edwin tapped his quill pen against the desk.

Mae'Var's pleasure would not be roused by anything so bloodless as this extra profit, but the reports pleased him enough to ignore Edwin's own lack of focus. The other man paced lengths across the plush rug behind the desk, staring at the floor with intensity enough to make the rest of the surroundings invisible. Not that he was missing much.

The rich mahogany bookshelves did what they could to decorate the room, but it suffered in dire need of a window (though a view overlooking the run-down docks might prove more dismal than even the bare walls); there was little to look at this time of night, in any case, but a breeze would not go amiss. At least Mae'Var had not insisted Edwin join him _downstairs_ for this meeting, as was his prerogative.

Ugh. Allowing the man to direct him was even more galling than being at the beck and call of his order! That the piddling task the Red Wizards had cast him from Thay to chase had proven more valuable than any suspected did not make the insult any easier to forgive. Well. 'Twould be his own gain in the end; they would learn not to attempt suchlike again.

"Very good." Mae'Var's voice was distracted. A distracted Mae'Var was not promising; it only meant he had some new plan which would need be tempered down into feasibility without sacrificing any of its more bloodthirsty components. Uncovered another 'traitor,' had he? Rooted out a hole in Bloodscalp's defenses to exploit? Or—

Something tickled, as if all across his skin; Edwin's heart picked up speed. What was this…? Enough to cause a shiver through him—danger? As his familiar neared, the sensation sharpened with enough clarity to identify it: excitement.

"She is here: close, so close! Master—Master! Raviwr found her." Raviwr's small wings stirred up a breeze as he darted into the room, his frantic flapping not slowing 'til he noticed their company.

"Enough."

The imp stilled.

Too late. This gleam in Mae'Var's eyes was not promising; the guild leader had stilled, as well.

Edwin took in a breath, holding his ire in with it. How much more compromising, if the man realized how nearly he held something to exploit?

"You are expecting someone?" Mae'Var's smile did not reach his eyes, the eyes that weighed Edwin's every movement, measuring for opening, examining for weakness. "Someone important."

Edwin did not blink; nothing would show upon his face at all (not even a glare: the least that the stupid imp deserved!). Holding his casual posture strained more and more each second, but if he straightened, if he should move his hands closer to his spell pouch…

"Someone you've not seen in some time." Mae'Var continued fishing, as if realizing how nearly the careless creature had gifted him leverage. He tilted his head, normally flat eyes sharp. "An old flame…?"

No need to feign his snort. "To the imp, perhaps."

Mae'Var leaned back. Whatever hint of blood the shark had sniffed out must have passed.

The work here would be done, soon enough. _At last_. Raviwr's enthusiasm twitched through their bond; as surely as the imp could not stay still, that restless energy was contagious: all of Edwin longed to jump up, to finish this farce at last. So many threads to tie up!

Instead, he returned Mae'Var's stare as the man continued speaking, stifling the impulse to tap his fingers upon the desk, his feet upon the floor—damnation!—could not the man finish speaking and leave him? Enduring the fool had never before been so unbearable until the moment he was no longer necessary.

"Yes, yes." Edwin stood, brushing his hands. "All will be as you would have it." Not that the guild leader's wishes would be of anyone's concern beyond the tenday.

"You seem... distracted."

A chill, as Mae'Var's scrutiny crept across him. Due to the glyph, or a more simple uneasiness? 'Twas more trying than usual to endure the man's oily presence; it settled upon the skin like a residue which left only the urge to bathe.

"I hope this woman will not be affecting your work."

"Her importance does not at all measure to my work here." No, _those_ plans were of far more import—and would remain far separate—best keep her as far from Mae'Var and his messy knives as possible.

"Hm." Blank eyes stared out of a blank face—as always, revealing nothing—but best assume suspicion stirred somewhere inside him. (His suspicions could accompany him to his grave.) "Let us hope so." Mae'Var left the room with the same slippery silence with which he'd entered it.

Gods! Was all this careful arranging to amount to nothing? Edwin fixed a glare upon the imp.

"Raviwr is sorry, Master." Only a little, if at all, for still the creature quivered with eagerness even after Mae'Var had departed. "He could not contain the news."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Edwin bit back his reprimand; no need to prove to the spies this slip had been one worth noting. "It matters not." Certainly, living in this cramped environ under constant watch had been lesson enough in patience already. Thieves waiting to betray each other to move higher in the guild leader's esteem fostered an atmosphere of dark competition: another familiar feeling, if no more welcome for it. Last year, the sensation of his glyph crawling with the continuous pressure of suppressed hostility had nearly been forgotten. After living in Thay, its return should not be so notable.

However luxurious the furnishings here, they were but a patina glossed over what was essentially a prison keeping him free of the Cowled Wizards' attention. But the bribes with the Council had lasted only a few months; the Cowled Idiots had begun to sniff around. They would need to be dealt with.

Minor concerns, all, in comparison to the relief this newest development granted him: she should have arrived _tendays_ ago, but she was here at last!

Wisps of air swirled into a humanoid form beside him. His summoned shadow, at least, had the discipline to know when not to interrupt; the messenger was near-invisible but for a blur as it stretched towards him, then vanished. Edwin glanced down at the slip of paper it left. " _Found N. Your move."_ Excellent. Progress on another front, as well.

 _Nevaziah._ He had arrived in Athkatla with only the name, but soon he would have more. He would have all of it.

The note fell to ash with a word.

Slower than expected, but the pieces were finally settling into place. Just as the diviner had foretold.

* * *

=S=

The faint slit of light beneath the door could not compete with the strength of the candle on the dresser; its flame danced, burned into her eyelids, a spark of red remaining behind each blink. Wax beaded, dripped down the side. (How many more drips, before it ended?)

The room had no windows. It might have been morning, it might have been midnight; it didn't matter.

A shadow grew beneath the door 'til it filled the empty space, then moved no more. Waiting, waiting.

She could wait, too. Sajantha squeezed shut her eyes, holding her breath.

The door creaked open—her skin crawled—someone entered the room, stepping softly, the loudest sound was the clink of beads strung together.

A picture formed in her mind of proud, angular elven features, light-brown hair separated into strands bound into braids.

Silence fell. Probably Jaheira watched Sajantha's face, wondering whether she were awake. "I called for a bath to be brought in." She knew. She could tell Sajantha wasn't sleeping. "If you cannot bathe yourself, I will do it for you. You've an hour, but best not wait until the water gets cold."

"We have a lead," she added, and Sajantha looked up to catch the door closing upon Jaheira's shadow.

It opened, again—not a minute later—when an attendant brought in a tarnished tub, a young man (who wouldn't look at her) whose thin arms strained with the weight of it.

It took several trips with buckets to render it filled, and each time the door creaked opened, Sajantha scooted back, 'til the edge of the narrow bed barely caught her.

A minute. Two minutes, three: the door stayed still. Full, the tub was full. No one else was coming. _An hour._ How long had Jaheira been gone?

The water in the metal tub glimmered beneath the candlelight as steam curled from it. Warmer than the bed. Cleaner. And she would be cleaner, too.

Sajantha peeled herself out from beneath the covers—peeled herself from sweaty, clinging clothes—and sank slowly into the heat of it, letting out a sigh as it leeched tension from her. And leeched the filth from her: it did not take long for the water to darken, even before she began to scrub.

She leaned back, stings sparking fire from a dozen scratches (don't look don't look), a twinge in her neck cramping her muscles. Lower she sank, lower, to melt all the aches away. Chin under. Mouth under.

 _Imoen._

Nose sucking in air—water, too—she flailed and splashed and sat up, a cry in her throat that came out a cough, sharp and burning.

Imoen dirty Imoen bloody Imoen cold and shivering day after day (after day no days at all just a forever on and on and on a blur a smear red smears red red red). No baths no comfort no warmth at all.

No, no warmth, at all—the water had chilled, a slick coating on her skin—dirty, still dirty, even if the grime had gone, and the washcloth had sank somewhere out of sight. How long? How long had she...?

 _Cold._ Shivers wracked her body: too long.

Limbs weak, too weak to lift her head—too heavy—her neck tilted back she stared up at the ceiling, at the shadows flickering. The candle-flame grew erratic, ready to gasp out.

 _Cold._

The door creaked open, the sound grinding against a raw spot in her ears; she covered them, shrank back. Water in her mouth. Choking, splashing. Someone pried her hands free—someone pulled her from the tub—

Beads clinked: Jaheira. _Jaheira._ Jaheira folded her into a scratchy towel, scrubbing the droplets from her (not the ones that stained her mind), and if she noticed the scars—she must have noticed; she had eyes (eyes eyes eyes)—she didn't say anything.

Sajantha stood shivering as Jaheira laid out clothing, a plain linen dress with a wrap, well-worn boots, underwear, socks, none of it new but all of it clean, and that was really all that mattered.

Jaheira moved around the room, quick, deliberate, an energy bottled-up tight but still an _energy;_ if Sajantha's energy had ever been bottled, it had all leaked out, emptied (drip drip drip).

"How? How can you... after..." Sajantha raised shaking hands to her head—almost—almost dropped the towel. "I can't..." (can't look can't see can't _think_ don't think about it _don't think about it)_

"We must." Jaheira's hands rested on her shoulders. Look at her—she wanted Sajantha to look at her. But those eyes (eyes eyes eyes) weren't right, too dark, too hard. "If it is a choice between giving up or fighting."

"I didn't give up." Not right away. "I tried to fight. I—I tried." The sob rising within her would blow the lid and spray out all beneath it; all that she held back bubbled out—through her eyes, not her mouth– "Jaheira, I–"

"Shh." The druid gave her shoulder a quick pat like she could press it all back down. "Get dressed. Eat something. We'll be waiting downstairs." The door creaked as she left.

 _Eat._ The word sounded foreign, felt it, as foreign as the oddly innocuous food looked: a thick piece of buttered bread waited on the worn dresser beside a sprig of grapes, impossibly mundane.

The food had no taste; Sajantha rolled it in her mouth 'til it had no texture, either, and still she could hardly swallow. The few bites she forced down settled like rocks in her belly, hard and heavy. It was easier to spit out. The grapes… she did not touch the grapes.

She turned back to the clothing, dropping the towel (if she didn't look down, no one would see; not there, not here). The dress was too big for her (the neck too open) but the shawl-like cloth wrapped around let her hide, left her hidden—no one could see beneath—she could pretend she didn't have anything to hide. Clean, now. Dressed. Rested. _Maybe after you rest._

A lead. They had a lead.

The door weighed too much but she pushed it 'til it creaked open, just wide enough for her to slip through.

The sun filtered in but weakly through the dining hall's dust-smeared windows. _Daylight._ Which day? Her muscles hadn't yet gained any strength; the rickety staircase stared up at her, a taunting challenge. One foot in front of the other: _don't look down don't look back._ One foot in front of the other: that was how you got places. The only way to get places (unless you were a mage).

She missed a step; splinters bit into her fingers as she clutched the banister. One foot—one foot—one foot—

She raced the rest of the way down, hurrying towards the light and sound, away from the quiet dark behind her. Out of air then, she gripped the banister and tried to gulp it back.

She'd earned a glare from the grizzled man at the table beside her—paused too long, too near him—no blue to them, but his cold eyes froze her a moment further.

"Sajantha! Over here." Across the room, Minsc waved his large arm at her, and the man turned away.

A cheap inn, he'd called it (the man she did not know), the man Jaheira called 'friend,' and surely they came no cheaper with this crowd of rogues and pirates, all as disheveled as their dirty clothes. Eyes crept over her—right through her—without seeing anything; Sajantha pulled her shawl tighter as she reached the table.

A boy sat with the rest of the group, heels kicking against his too-tall stool. "Heya." He perked up as Sajantha grew closer, and tossed back his shaggy dark hair. Keen eyes peeked out, too old for his young face. "Name's Brus. Me uncle says you lot might be looking for information on the girl what got captured? For casting magic."

"Yes!" Minsc banged his fists upon the table. "We must rescue her with the haste of a dozen—a hundred!—hounds. Hungry on the scent of justice! Do not drag your feet, boy, or Boo will be very cross."

"What can you tell us?" Jaheira asked, softened with slightly more patience.

"That be for him to say, not me." Brus gestured towards the door. "I can take ye to him, aye?"

They stood; Jaheira glanced back at Sajantha. "You are alright to join us?"

"I… of course." If there was a chance—

It didn't matter how her legs burned, how she needed to collapse, worn-out just descending the stairs. If there was a chance.

Sajantha glanced back at the table. Missing something? No pack, nor gear to speak of. What was she looking for?

A gaze at the nearby table caught hers—the watcher's lip lifted in a leer golden tooth glimmering—she looked away, shivering into her shawl, and almost stepped into someone.

"Here." He must be joining them, their stranger—a Kara-Turan, for his sleek dark hair and the shape of his eyes, creasing as if he wore a hidden smile—held something out for her. "This will come in handy."

It was in her hands, before—

Her fingers clenched, then spasmed open (red dripping between them); the dagger fell with a clatter. She sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step back—tables blocked her a barricade nowhere to go, nowhere to _go—_

Her shaking hands reached for balance—almost knocked over a chair—

He crouched down to retrieve the weapon, rising with none of the confusion or frustration that ought be on his face. "Forgive me, please. I did not notice you had nowhere to store it! No belt, no pack. Silly Yoshimo!" Yoshimo. Yes, that was his name. "I will just hold it here for you until we straighten this out, yes?" He gestured, leaving her plenty of room. "Come! Before our ranger's pet hamster decides to nibble his impatience out upon the boy, eh?"

Sajantha swallowed, looking down at her hands. Nothing. No blood: she'd bathed. But this clothing itched, like she still wasn't clean. "A-alright."

* * *

=E=

More candles were required. Smelling salts, incense, _something_ which would permeate the air stronger than unwashed hooligans and their oiled leathers, the parade of which never seemed to end. How could anyone be expected to accomplish anything with these constant interruptions?

"We're coming up short this tenday." The latest rogue—what was his name? they were all so similarly _dirty_ —shifted his weight, scratching at the back of his head and his scraggly mop of hair. (He had best not have tracked in fleas.) "One o' the little buggers been skimming."

Ah, yes. Kretor, wasn't it? Edwin made a notation upon his notebook. At least the man's army of pickpocketing children had elected not to invade the premises with him.

It had never failed to be boring, but this babysitting of assets was steadily passing all bounds of endurance. Edwin set down his papers with a sigh. "Have I not warned you about wasting my time with this? If your team is unable to meet the quota, you are responsible for the difference. (I had hoped he would prove more reliable than his predecessor.)"

"I've got no way to tell which one's behind it, not like you—"

"You wish me to kill one to make an example, I suppose." Gods, could the man not even discipline those pissants properly? How hard could it be to corral a handful of street urchins? "This would not be necessary if they possessed a modicum of respect for you!" Edwin grit his teeth. "Dock their pay. If this does not prompt the rats to squeal upon one other, you may threaten them with my involvement: but rest assured, it is your own head on the line."

That ought penetrate his thick skull, but the man drew himself up, as if more offended than concerned. "You—you know we bring in a respectable haul. Mae'Var knows me and me crew ain't pulling the bottom of the charts!"

Edwin rose, sending the man shrinking back a bit. "Mae'Var cares not how I handle these matters, _so long as they are handled._ I offer you the same freedom." The guild leader enjoyed getting his hands dirty in very selective scenarios, happy to leave Edwin in charge of the rest. "If you are all so useless, I believe I should rather start anew with a fresh crew."

"I—I'll take care of it. Sorry, sir." His head bobbed. "Don't worry about it."

"I am not the one who needs be worried."

The thief slunk from the room.

Irritating, yes, but not so much that this antsiness should continue grating against him… bah. " _Raviwr."_

The imp appeared. At least he had waited to deliver his message this time, though the sulky undertones to his presence said enough.

"She did not notice you?"

"Nope-nope."

Edwin frowned, dimming their bond 'til he pushed the imp's sullenness back to a tickle. What might it mean? If anything. He glared an admonition. "We will see her soon enough. No doubt she will allow you to pester her to your heart's content. But do not forget our goal: if you compromise this, I will scourge your soul to the blackest pit–"

"Where Raviwr won't even be reborn as a lower being. Master has said this."

"Just so. I will tolerate no interference."

His familiar hopped across the desk, wings dragging. "She is sad."

"I did not inquire after her state of mind, imp; have you anything useful to report?"

"Shadow. Dark-dark-dark."

"Her moods do not concern me." Mercurial as they were. Though, considering the ties her emotions had to her magic… perhaps they did. She could always locate the creature before, whatever his invisibility (without even needing to cast: but one of her ought-to-be-impossible feats). When magic obeyed even her subconscious wishes…

"You say she failed to detect you?" Perhaps it could prove quite relevant.

His nails clicked against the desk.

* * *

=S=

Without a guide, these cramped streets would surely be impossible to navigate for all their twists and turns; Brus led them down winding roads, past dilapidated houses and debris-choked alleys, with people populating them looking just as rough and worn.

With the sun searing the top of her head, Sajantha looped the shawl around her head and shoulders, enough to shield her eyes, even if it was far too warm to be comfortable. But comfort was such a distant thing to reach for, wasn't it? Sweat had already begun to collect on her neck as they came to a stop.

The red brick home the boy had led them to had once been painted white, and still was in patches, a patterning mismatched as the missing shingles; it stood out not at all from the patchwork of similar hovels about them, though in the distance, some metal gleamed with a blinding light that set Sajantha squinting.

A child's shrieking laughter pierced through her ears; behind them, pounding feet clattered across the cracked cobblestone.

"Right 'ere," their young guide said.

Decrepit as it looked, perhaps opening the door would disrupt the foundation, send the entire structure tumbling down around her, burying her between stone and dirt.

It didn't.

The door shut, enclosing them in a dim room; with the windows shuttered, only oil lamps lit the space, casting deep shadows that crawled at the corners. Minsc stood at her back, large enough to block the entry. Protecting them—he could protect them—he wasn't trapping them in. She took in a deep breath; the air here was strangely cool. Lots of chairs and stools about. Why so many? No one sat down.

"Ah! Good to see me nephew hasn't gotten lost. The name is Gaelan Bayle." Casually nondescript as their surroundings, the room's occupant gave them an unguarded grin, but he moved quick enough to belie that, quick enough that Sajantha flinched when he whipped out his hand for them to shake. "Welcome to me humble home, travelers—"

"What can you tell us about Imoen." Jaheira folded her arms.

"Aye." He pulled back his hand—raked it through his hair, instead—and exchanged his grin for a bashful smile. "We'll cut straight to the chase, yeah? I know of a powerful group that can be helping ye: finding the wizard and the young woman both, they can. And aiding in the rescue, to boot."

Rescue? Someone could help them—someone could help. Gods—thank the gods. Sajantha steadied herself against the wall as her limbs pooled with shaky relief.

"You should know," he drawled, "it requires me friends to cross the _Cowlies."_

What in the hells was a 'Cowlie?' He'd loaded the word with the weight of something foreboding, something drastic. Something they should know. Sajantha straightened. "So—what does that mean? Does that mean you can't help?"

Yoshimo gave his head a shake, not lifting his eyes from Bayle. "It means it will cost us."

"We haven't any money." No—so _close!_ —and the threat of losing their only chance squeezed at her heart. "Just tell us where she is, and we'll take care of it."

"Not something you'd be able to do on your own, whatever ye might think. You be wanting their help: yay, or nay?"

" 'Help' is not help, when it has a price tag attached. Boo calls this 'extortion.' "

"Indeed." Jaheira frowned. "Just how much is this 'help' going to cost us? We've little coin, and even less to trade."

"To cross the dangerous Cowled Wizards, the rulers of the city?" The man gave them a shrug. "It's not an unreasonable price: twenty-thousand gold pieces."

Sajantha's stomach dropped. Twenty-thousand? Twenty- _thousand?_ "It is when we haven't even twenty _silver_ between all of us. This—this isn't fair. I thought you said you could help us!"

"And I thought you said you wanted to find your friend?"

"I—" Holding her face, Sajantha staggered back, bowed over. Too heavy. Too heavy, her head, it sloshed full of weight determined to leak out her eyes. "Jaheira—"

Jaheira stepped forward. "Is there no way to lower this fee? A loan, perhaps?"

"Not a one. It is as I says it."

"How are we supposed to do this? How are we supposed to get it? I..." Sajantha gripped her arms tight around her middle. "Please. I just want to know where she is. That's all." With _him_ —Imoen was with _him_ —gods! But, where?

"Plenty o' lives on the line, to get what needs getting from the Cowled Ones. They're the power, here, aye? This group'll be putting themselves in danger, and that's got a fee what won't budge." Was that sympathy that softened his face? Or the mask of it? "I'm sorry about your friend, lass. But these be my friends, and they be risking a lot."

Twenty-thousand. It may as well have been a million. "We'll just... we'll have to figure it out on our own, I guess." The door wasn't where she'd left it; her hand fumbled at the wall.

"He may be right." A crack of light—there it was—Yoshimo held the door open for her. "It would take someone of no small power to find information on the Cowled Wizards. This may be your only opportunity."

"Go, look about—but here is where your help is," Gaelan called after them. "Time will pass, whether ye be searching out answers or gold. Strangers are not always to be feared."

"We will be back," Jaheira told him.

This was going to cost them more than gold: one more thing they didn't have—that Imoen didn't have—time. The door shut behind her.

Sajantha stepped outside the shadow of the building into the sun's warm greeting; a child whooped out a shout, racing past her. Had she ever had that much energy? She sank to her heels, the rough hem of her dress pooling over her boots.

A tall shadow spilled over her.

Her neck twisted. "Minsc?"

He sat down beside her, letting out a heavy sigh. "When I had my—my head wound, I... I do not remember it so very well. It was not until Minsc was joined with Boo that he could think clearly again. It was a dark time, though. Scary." He touched his head. "It hurt."

"But finding Boo made it better?"

"More than any words Minsc can say. Maybe you need something like this to hold onto." He paused. "You... you can hold him, if you want."

His treasured familiar, his guide, his voice of reason? "I don't want to take him from you; I couldn't."

Minsc's hands curled back over the hamster, cutting Boo from view. "Just for a minute, of course!" He lowered his hand, and the animal's fuzzy form peeked out.

Even for as briefly as he held the animal away from his body, Minsc's brow knotted up. Sajantha stroked Boo only a moment; the ranger couldn't bear to be parted any longer than that, the way he hovered. Nor did Boo appear to enjoy the separation, squirming to be free. "Thank you." But her empty hands felt no better for having been full.

Jaheira and Yoshimo stepped up, and the forest of legs grown around her cut the rowdy children from view.

"Twenty-thousand gold." Twenty _-thousand_. How? How many hours was that, how many days? Tendays? The calendar said he (Irenicus, they called him Irenicus) had kept them over three months. A hundred missing days blurred into one—blurred into thousands—no clear edges between them, just sharp cracks that didn't fit together any longer.

Sajantha raised a hand to her chest, fingers finding her seam. "How?" How many days fit into twenty-thousand? How many hours, how many minutes? Too many steps here, and none of them sturdy. But before them lay a path: twenty-thousand gold. It was… it was something. Better than nothing, all they'd had before.

 _An idea_ , said Imoen. _Not quite a plan._

"How?" Yoshimo repeated. His eyes twinkled, laughing at a joke the rest of them didn't hear. "You find yourselves in the City of Coin, yes? The only limits here are where your morals stop you. Would you be interested in a bit of skullduggery? Nothing too illicit, of course."

It hardly mattered. Sajantha didn't look up at the others. Too many missing faces. Too many sad ones.

"It has been some time since I was last here," Jaheira answered Yoshimo, "you may know this city best. Where would you begin?"

"Ah, you are indeed in luck, my friends! I know just the place." He hesitated. "Though there may not be the warmest welcome for me, I must warn you."

* * *

=E=

A knock rang through his ears, cutting off his concentration. What was it now! " _Si lasau."_ Edwin glared as he gestured to send the door opening. "Yes…?"

Ercias stepped in, but remained just in the doorway. One of the few underlings who knew how to be useful _and_ unobtrusive, and his positioning implied he intended not remain here long. _Good._ The man rubbed his palms together. "Been trying to dig up the dirt on the hullabaloo yesterday, and managed a little scoop for ye: Cowlies are keeping it hush-hush, but word is they took prisoners. Not sure if it's any of ours—for I've good authority the Guild was poking thereabouts—but it'd have to be pretty high-up, as I reckon. Linvail's men, mayhap."

 _Yesterday._ This could not be a coincidence, if the Cowled Morons were involved and magic had been blocking him… But Raviwr had confirmed she was safe, and for now the details were less a concern.

"Master O…?"

The rogue had been saying something. Something _else_ , so hardly relevant, but Edwin waved him to continue.

"Want me to get that Gethras feller wrapped up? I been taking out his defenses bit by bit, and no sign he's noticed. Could be time to close in, if'n you're ready."

"I've something else for you to do, something out of town. It will likely take me few days to prepare." Hopefully no more than that.

"You got it, boss." Ercias tipped his head, backing out of the room. "Whate'er ye need, me ear's always out."

The man was no fool, whatever he oft affected; he'd picked up the message to make himself scarce. No point in having one of Edwin's _own_ spies perish in the coming bloodbath, after all.

* * *

=S=

Faces floated around her, spinning mouths and eyes—

Sajantha blinked. Kept blinking 'til they stilled.

A trio of concerned faces stared down, the sun behind them sending a halo to obscure their edges. But they weren't floating. Even if her own head felt like it was.

"I'm okay—I'm okay." But it took so much effort to rise, as if to prove her wrong; she straightened only far enough to sit. "What happened?"

"You fainted."

"I… I did?" No! Not in front of Bloodscalp's whole guild? The halls had been growing narrower as they'd walked deeper, passing rogues (more and more behind her), eyes following (more and more and more)—

A shiver rocked through her. But they were outside, now. Outside, where the cool breeze from the ocean was alive with a freshness even the stink of fish could not kill. Sajantha took in a deep breath.

A large hand reached down to pull her up. "Minsc had a Boo on one shoulder and a Sajantha on the other!"

"Thank you. Or—sorry." Gods! What would the Thieves' Guild think? Would anyone trust them with work when one of them couldn't even stay _conscious?_ Worse than simply embarrassing, if she'd cost them this chance.

Minsc did not seem concerned—at least not by that: "Boo thinks you need to eat more protein. He recommends nuts, though I personally find a good elk steak hits the spot."

"Such _yotsuashi_ are considered taboo in most of Kozakura, which only intrigues me!" Yoshimo gave him a grin. "But a pity I have heard of no elk in these parts."

The ranger deflated a little. "No. And none here would know how to prepare it as my homeland, nor which sauces to tenderize it in…" He sighed. "We will find a worthy substitute, though!"

"Perhaps as a reward awaiting our job well-done, hm?" Yoshimo suggested.

"Will you two focus? We have been sidetracked long enough." Jaheira turned to face the water, the breeze sending the beads in her hair clinking. "We are lucky that Bloodscalp indeed gave us a task, even if it is to forgive Yoshimo's local 'freelancing.' "

Yoshimo gave them an apologetic look. "There will also be a reward, of course! Though I am sorry to drag you into my obligations."

A flash of pain speared through Sajantha's head, but she shook it away. "It's not as if we've aught else to do." A strange city, a strange land—even the architecture was different, these domed roofs and archways and too-tall walls—and 'twas not as if she knew anyone here, or of another path to take.

"Aye." Jaheira raised a hand. "You do."

"What?"

"You do have something else to do," Jaheira continued, "you need to rest."

"But," Sajantha looked between them, "haven't we a task, you said?"

"Yes. We are infiltrating another guild chapter, and need be on our most… convincing… behavior."

It wasn't _that_ kind of concern for her, was it? They just couldn't risk Sajantha giving them away. "I… but I can bluff." Well. She _used_ to be able to. "I'll work on it." Something. She had to do something.

Jaheira's nod humored her more than agreed. "Just work on resting up."

* * *

Moist rock caught Sajantha's hand as she blindly stumbled, smooth enough to be a wall, yet it still scratched at her palm. Faint edges solidified as she stared, barely enough for her night-sight to make out the gray stone walls rising on both her sides, above, below. Behind? _Don't look back._

Don't stop.

The faint sound of trees—or was that gentle rustling the rolling waves of the sea?—filtered from somewhere, and a breeze whispered through her clothing, breathed against her face. _Escape._

Faster. Faster, 'til her legs burned with the strain, faster as the tunnel tilted upward and she glimpsed a spot of light—there, above! atop the steepening incline—an exit.

"Where do you think you are going?" His voice—his _voice_ —sent shivers up her spine. _Don't look._ But… she had to, had to turn, for she could not move forward so frozen.

Her captor stood behind her with that same distant curiosity he always wore, arms folded.

Her feet wouldn't move— _couldn't—_ she was sinking; the ground was soft. Wet. _Bodies._ Corpses covered the path to the surface. Light—just a glimpse of it, within reach, if she could… if she could just…

 _Irenicus._ Was that—was that a smile stretching through his mask?

Sajantha took a breath and threw her weight forward, wading upward through the corpse-strewn path—hopping, stumbling—some still warm, some so so cold.

Behind her, he was still so close behind her, a feeling like the chill of sweat dripping down her back. _Don't look._ She looked up, instead: the spot of light hadn't grown any larger, any closer; the path had become so steep she'd have to lower to her hands to climb.

 _Death._ Death, on either side and everywhere, a stink that thickly filled her nose, thickly filled her skull.

"Where do you imagine you are running to?" His voice—so calm, so cold—cut right through her (cut through flesh, cut through bone). "There is no escape."

No light. No exit.

Dark. Getting darker. Cold liquid seeped around her toes.

 _Black._

Something clenched around her ankle.

She screamed.

Something struck, hard enough to knock the air from her—hard— _wood_. The floor. She thrashed around—damp, but not wet—

No bodies, no blood, but still—still something held her ankle—

Sheets. Just the sweaty sheets wrapped around her. The stink of blood and waste and rot was gone, leaving the sour-sharp smell of sweat and pine and mildew.

Sajantha lay shaking on the floor, and pulled the sheets up around her. Not enough to hide in, but she buried her face in the scratchy linen.

* * *

The next morning found them circled around a table in the Copper Coronet's main dining area—just as dismal a locale as it had seemed upon first sight, though few of the grim-looking patrons were yet about—and while the rest of the group had stayed out late for this new guild-master's task, they were already up and well-awake, looking far more rested than she.

Jaheira set down a tray of food in front of Sajantha before returning to her own seat. "I stopped by the Council building this morning while you were abed. It sounds indeed as if these Cowled Wizards run the city; we will have no help from that quarter. Apparently they are allowed to secretly imprison any mage they deem an 'unsafe practitioner.' " She gave a sigh. "The last time I was in this city, I found little to respect about the governance; there is a great deal of corruption here."

"Then this Gaelan Bayle was correct; gold and only gold will get us where we need." Yoshimo speared a bite of greasy sausage upon his fork. "It is good to have friends on the side of the law which gets things done, eh?"

"Whoever will help us." At least _someone_ was, even with such a cost; just what would they be doing without the gold to chase? The Cowled Wizards were the ones who had taken Imoen, after all, and if no one else was willing to cross them… "I don't suppose as I expected much from them." But somehow _knowing_ there'd be no hope from the Wizards—when they'd imprisoned Imoen without just cause!—didn't sit any easier. Sajantha stared down at her morningfeast and poked a quivering egg with her fork, spilling gold.

"It is sad we must work with thieves and criminals, sadder still when the law is not righteous and fair! But Minsc and Boo will administer our own brand of justice, do not fear." Minsc nodded to himself, grinning as he glared out towards the windows. "The evil will answer for their crimes, and the good will be rescued with all the proper punctuality and protocols! Though…" he hesitated, losing his proud posture, "this is Boo's word. I will just say 'butt-kicking and battle-cries.' "

"Whatever does the trick, of course." Yoshimo gave his head a shake, but gave Sajantha a smile. "So these are the great heroes of Baldur's Gate! More than you have heard of the great Yoshimo, I fear."

He'd—he'd heard of that? How? "I didn't realize we were so well-renowned. Nor you."

"A rogue's vanity, perhaps." He winked. "But of course the heroes stopped a war with this very nation; the land was filled with tales of your deeds this last winter."

The same tales that had begun circling about Baldur's Gate before they'd left? (Bhaalspawn.)

Sajantha swallowed. "You know us? Back in the dungeon, then: did you know who we were?" Had he seemed strange, suspicious? So much of that place was still a blur with no way to trust her intuition. _Don't look. Don't look back._

He shook his head. "It was only my luck that I stumbled into anyone, never mind those of such skill! With all the portals and puzzles, I doubt I would have escaped alone. 'Twas through speaking with your friends, though, that I have pieced this together. Yet you do not quite resemble the fire-breathing curly-haired champion I'd heard tell of."

Is that what they said of her? 'Fire-breathing.' Like when her wild magic had surged and would have left the front of Imoen a molten mess if Jaheira had not been able to heal her. Sajantha's stomach turned; she looked away.

"No, you are fully right to be suspicious given the circumstances." Yoshimo must have mistook her hesitation. "But I have no wish for us to be at any kind of odds: tell me what I can do to set your mind at ease."

Sajantha tried to smile. "Find me Imoen."

"Ah." He sat back. "If it was within my ability, I would gladly do so."

"No—I know. But that's the only thing… to set my mind at ease? Nothing else…" She took in a shaky breath. "I just… I don't think I can even talk about it." What was the point? Words wouldn't bring anyone back. She stared at the soggy mess on her plate and not at Jaheira, who had risen to speak with the large man at the bar counter.

"We already make progress." Yoshimo was the one to assure her, for Minsc looked to be assuring his hamster. Or perhaps the reverse. "Once we complete this investigation, Bloodscalp is sure to reward us handsomely. Thieves always know the value of labor, and reward with the best of them."

"We'll get more from them for this venture than we would for selling that amulet you stole for them, is what you're saying?" If the gaudy monstrosity poking from Yoshimo's pack was worth even half its weight in gold…

"Infinitely more. For, you see: we will have their trust. This is not a thing to value lightly. It will lead to more jobs—more gold—and bring your friend ever-closer."

Sajantha looked up from her eggs. "Have you ever lost anyone?"

His smile faded. "I had a sister."

"I'm sorry." Why had she even asked? As if sharing pain might lessen it, instead of simply stabbing a wound open anew. "It's so hard, isn't it? I wonder if it ever gets better." Layers of numbness, maybe, all that stood between her and her father's memory, all that kept the cold from sneaking in. So many new layers, now, between them. New faces.

Yoshimo's face had fallen into a pensive expression.

She touched his arm. "Thanks for your help. With the amulet? We'd never have managed it, without your skills." Slipping into a temple of _Talos_ to steal it, too! As if crossing an evil god ought to be on anyone's list.

 _Godchild,_ came Irenicus's voice, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck.

Yoshimo's smile returned. "It is my most humble pleasure! I am glad to be of assistance."

* * *

=E=

"Edwin," a familiar sibilant voice said, smile greasing his speech. "A party of adventurers paid me a visit yesterday. They had Renal's seal, but it's clear they are not thieves. Why would he send me a group of amateurs, I wonder?"

Why, indeed? Bloodscalp must have caught on at last, and cared not if they knew it. _Spies._ And a sloppy job of it, if his chosen lacked even the pretense of thieves. Yet confident enough to attach his own name to them? This was more daring than those who had come before.

Edwin glanced up as Mae'Var reached the desk. "Not all must be skilled in the roguish arts to be useful. No doubt he thought you creative enough to determine a use for them." And all knew where Mae'Var's predilections lay; what use might he formulate for the poor fools? "Where are they now?" Still down in the basement, if it must be guessed. Perhaps Mae'Var was done playing with his current prisoners then, if he had new toys with which to occupy him.

"Oh, I gave them some arbitrary task. To 'prove their loyalty.' "

Of course, the Bloodscalp's seal would protect them at least until Mae'Var could _dis_ prove that loyalty. Whether this disguise proved better than those who had attempted to infiltrate thus far remained to be seen.

The guild leader waved his hand as if distracted already, but his breathy voice touched on a note of anticipation, "I was thinking a magical inspection might be in order. If you could... hmm... apply your own test..."

 _This_ is what his talents were to be used for? Playing the role of a circus-grade hack fortune teller? Bah. Within a handful of days, this would be done. The man could be endured so long as that, surely.

"If they are as capable as I hear, they may be useful, even if not in the capacity Bloodscalp suggested. There is something about them... something curious…"

Something, indeed, if Mae'Var was willing to give them a chance and had not yet cried 'traitor.' One could not fault the man's caution, but his paranoia verged on insane. All the better to indulge it, when even allies could prove enemies; manufacturing such leverage was how Edwin had gained entry, after all.

"You wish me to inspect them, then? See that they are whom they claim to be?" Even with little familiarity with divination, enough of a pretense could be manufactured that no non-mage might argue. And there were plenty of other ways to elicit a confession, true or not. Mae'Var's former second-in-command still refused to acknowledge his own perfectly-orchestrated downfall; if he had only cooperated, perhaps his part in the farce would not have dragged on quite so long.

"Oh, I don't doubt they are who they claim. Few would pretend to be the heroes of Baldur's Gate; it's not a cover that would hold up." Mae'Var rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "Just what they are doing in our corner of Amn is the better question."

The heroes of Baldur's Gate! A tension clenched through Edwin's fingers as he focused on keeping his face composed. The heroes of Baldur's Gate? Working for _Bloodscalp_. Spies? Nothing so simple as that. And nothing would quicker reveal their duplicity than those troublesome Harpers tagging along! Their ilk could be sniffed out a mile away by anyone with something to hide. Not that the insipidly sunny bright-eyed girl would fail to demand scrutiny on her own. Just what was she thinking? Her smiles would not work on Mae'Var.

No, no, this would not do.

What was the likelihood of this? That Sajantha and her annoyingly do-gooder friends might ever be working for the Shadow Thieves! Fallen right into his hands, but in such an unexpected manner as to render it entirely inconvenient. Mae'Var's unreliability complicated this far too much. He needed to die, and soon.

Edwin gave him a smile. "Send them on to me."

The hero of Baldur's Gate. _The Bhaalspawn._


	3. Deceptions

=S=

They were going to leave. Jaheira, Minsc and Yoshimo had strapped on their gear, readied their packs, all prepared for their undercover mission. The one they feared she'd compromise.

Sajantha didn't have a pack. Didn't have any gear. Didn't have a good enough reason to go with them, and just stood there as the crawling across her skin settled deeper, to a buzz inside her bones. She took a half-step towards them, but she didn't have anywhere to go.

"You should catch up on sleep." Jaheira raised her eyebrows as Sajantha opened her mouth. "I know you have not been."

"But…" A flutter rose in her chest. How to explain that, how to make clear how she couldn't return to all which waited in her room (alone)? Sajantha licked her lips. "But I have to _do_ something."

"Healing is just as important." And Jaheira gestured up the stairs to the rooms as if she couldn't see the shadows creeping down the walls that the dirty windows in the common room just kept at bay.

Down here there was light—even a little—and sound and people and (not him)—

"It will do her good to stretch her legs, yes?" The plea inside her must have reached Yoshimo, from whatever shape it took in her words or on her face, enough for him to hear.

But Jaheira's eyes narrowed. "You saw Mae'Var—"

"She will be with us," Minsc piped up, as if it might be that simple, as if that was answer enough.

Perhaps it might be. Sajantha gave him and Yoshimo a weak smile.

"She has already been cooped-up long enough, hasn't she?" Yoshimo's voice was strangely gentle, and perhaps 'twas this which smoothed the crease from Jaheira's forehead.

Sajantha's hands clenched; ready for refusal, she lifted up her chin as the druid's gaze returned to her. "I'm fine, Jaheira."

But the woman stared at her with brows drawn up and a small frown—was that pity?—in the brief second before Sajantha cast her gaze away.

"For this, I'm fine." She could do it. She _would._ Whatever it took. "For Imoen."

* * *

The transition to the Docks District would have been impossible to tell if not for the slanting decline as sea level grew nearer; the buildings remained just as old and weary as the slums, stacked stories looming as if about to slide. Bigger buildings, though: warehouses and structures the size of temples had shacks shoved into the narrow spaces between them in a haphazard attempt to make the most of the space, as if the coastal view might be worth competing over, even here (not Candlekeep), where the sea air was tinged with the sour taint of fish.

The building Jaheira led them to sat upon the stretch closest to the water, and nothing remarked it from its neighbors but the strange silence around it, doubly pronounced after passing an overflowing alehouse. Plenty of dock workers and sailors busied themselves about, but all bustle abruptly stilled before this three-story structure. _The guild-house._

A bell tinkled overhead as they stepped within, the musty scent of old pine walls giving them a greater greeting than the bored-looking man who slouched behind the counter. A… shopkeeper? Merchandise—of an oddly mundane variety—filled the shelves on either side, with nothing more suspicious for sale than whatever the sealed containers between the dry goods and travel gear might store. _This_ was the guild? But… behind the shopkeeper was a rather sturdy-looking door. And the outside had proclaimed at least two more levels…

"Ah, hello, Gorch!" Yoshimo beamed as if they'd received a welcome, and the shopkeeper—Gorch—glanced up.

Not so bored as he appeared, for as the group fanned out, the man's gaze swiftly scanned across the others to fix upon _her,_ with eyes that looked rather beady upon such a full face. What did he see? For he shrugged almost immediately—almost dismissively—giving them a nod. And apparently granting access to whatever rooms hid behind, for everyone moved forward.

Sajantha glanced back to see the man's fingers easing off a crossbow he'd kept concealed beneath the counter, and nearly stepped into the others who had come to a stop.

 _This_ was the guild. On the other side of the door awaited something like a lounge: several men and women sat about, playing cards and watching a game of darts in a general scene of relaxation, with conversations full of jokes and ribbing accompanying each thunk upon the target. Yet something felt off about it, as if 'twas a front as false as the store they'd passed.

Something… familiar, here. What was it?

A set of stairs led down on the left side of the room, and the right corner held a staircase heading upward. The fireplace against the back wall was dark and cold, though most of the room's inhabitants oriented around it. Or were they oriented _away_ from something else? The seats nearest the basement stayed empty, giving the place a lopsided weight, a weight that kept tugging at her attention.

 _What was it._ It couldn't only be her own nerves, but how could it be everyone else's? The rogues were too alert, maybe, like their attention wasn't quite focused. Ah. _Waiting._ For the air itself changed as footsteps echoed up the staircase, and the restlessness stirred within her as well, with an anticipation that could be tasted upon the tongue, the sourness of a dry mouth (he was coming he was on his way)—

"Mae'Var," Yoshimo said beneath his breath, tipping his head toward the wiry bald man whose eye they appeared to have caught, even before he'd fully ascended the stairs.

"Ah, my new recruits." Mae'Var's gaze, razor-sharp, sliced towards Sajantha, quick enough to feel the sting of it. "You have brought a guest, I see."

"She is one of our—" Jaheira didn't get to finish.

"Can she not speak for herself?" Mae'Var's voice was so quiet, syllables so oddly drawn out, one could almost call it a purr, yet a word so soft as that hardly fit. Coiled, like a snake about to strike, he eyed her. "Why did I not meet you yesterday?" Not so very much taller than her, but some menace in the man overshadowed his small stature. "Let me rephrase this: _tell me why I should not kill you."_

Was he… was he serious? Sajantha clenched her fingers into suddenly sweaty palms. The noise around them did not subside but seemed to gather a waiting weight: while curious, none of the rogues around seemed surprised. So he likely meant it—was prepared to do so without further ado—gods! Jaheira was right; she wasn't ready for this—

Sajantha swallowed. "I should think you'd like to get what use you can from me, first. It seems a trifle wasteful to dispose of assets _before_ you've weighed their capabilities." Yes, let him realize how useless she was _later._ "If I fail, that's… certainly your prerogative; I could expect no less." As one could almost expect he'd not wait so long as even that, with the distant way he eyed her (as if she were already dead).

"Scared you, did I?" A grin flashed across his face, revealing rows of perfectly ordered teeth, strangely flat. Had she expected them to be sharp? "Good. Fear keeps you honest." And his manner changed so abruptly, so fluidly, as he relaxed back onto the balls of his feet, bobbing a little. "You're lucky I've not the time to piddle around with you personally, but my second will take care of you as needed. A spellcaster." There were his teeth again. Not too many magic-users outside the Cowled Ones here, were there? A threat, it sounded, even if his gaze—the only part of his expression not to change—hadn't said the same. "Edwin's on the third floor above us. And he is not the most _patient_ man."

Sajantha's heart turned over with a thump, then picked up speed.

Mae'Var milled about a moment more before returning downstairs. The conversations around them grew a bit in volume, in lightness, but the noises all blurred into the background, a steady murmur in her ears.

"Edwin? Did he say _Edwin?"_ A trickle of warmth melted through her. If he were here... if he were here... what might it mean? If it meant anything.

"It is not so uncommon a name as that." But Jaheira did not look pleased.

"He said, 'spellcaster,' too," Minsc pointed out. "Boo does not think there can be so very many."

 _Edwin_ was here. Edwin was _here?_ Edwin. Sajantha gripped the banister as they reached the stairs; her head was already spinning. "I have to sit down."

Yoshimo looked between them, brow raised. "Is this Edwin a friend or foe?"

"That's the question, isn't it." Jaheira's sharp tone shaped out her own opinion, cutting at Sajantha's ears.

"He is not a friend!" Minsc's voice dropped to a mutter, "The enemy of Dynaheir? Boo would have his _eyes_ if I did not restrain him." The hamster let out a squeak, protesting beneath the force of the consolation as Minsc firmly stroked his head.

 _Edwin._ He was really here? Sajantha's heart fluttered, all stops and starts, a bird that didn't know where to land. "Somewhere in between, perhaps." She glanced up at Jaheira, who'd not loosened her glare. "I suppose it depends on him."

Yoshimo inclined his head, his ready smile nowhere to be seen. "Do you think he can compromise us?"

"If our presence should compromise _his_ plans? There is no doubt." Already speaking quietly, and enough noise around them for privacy, but Jaheira dropped her voice lower. "You believe he would turn on his employers for us, as he did at the bandit camp?"

Would he? "Why would he need to? We're not prisoners this time." Nowhere near on even footing, though. She curved her arm around the banister, gripping it close. What could he possibly be doing here?

"This is not what I meant. Do you forget how easily he transfers loyalties?"

Sajantha looked away. If it came to battle, they'd not win. "Let me talk to him." Enough to return the jelliness to her legs—just the idea of it!—though the banister helped raise her to her feet. "But be prepared for anything."

If only it were so easy as that. The staircase seemed to stretch to infinity for the heaviness of each step, her chest growing tighter and tighter the higher and higher they reached.

The door at the top of the stairs waited like a wall, so solid and still; she stared at her reversed reflection in the doorknob, hand wavering instead of grasping it. Knock. She should knock, shouldn't she?

Sajantha took in a breath. No sooner did her hand rap upon the door than it swung open—magic!—for no one was there.

This soft rug could quiet her steps, but not the pounding in her ears. Mage-lights livened the dark walls in place of windows, an overburdened bookcase filled the space at her right, and an ornate desk took up the other side of the room.

The figure at the desk stood, and all else faded before her.

"Greetings." The rich crimson cut of his cloak rippled as he turned, but more than just his red robes stood out vibrant in this dreary hall; the man facing them demanded attention with every detail, with his carefully-trimmed beard, the jewelry glimmering off his hands, his ears—even his beard!—but most of all with the dark arch of his brow over equally dark eyes.

How could he look so much the same? As if no time had passed. As if nothing had passed. "You are the new recruits? Know that you are being evaluated, even as I speak." Edwin turned his stare to her—a stare as if he'd never seen her before—with an indifference so neutral there was not even a coldness to it, just the cold which grew in the pit of her stomach.

"So," her voice might have cracked, but at least it didn't shake, "it's like that, is it?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was as indifferent as his expression, flat but for the rolling dimension of his accent. How could his features remain so very familiar—familiar enough to stab straight through her—when everything else on his face was not?

A drop of unease drained down her throat; she swallowed, it swirled in her belly. Test—it was a test—it had to be. _Evaluated._ Were they being observed? Was him not recognizing her a precaution of some kind, not simply him being an ass? Because she couldn't have changed so much as to be unrecognizable, he'd not have forgotten her. Right?

Battered between her pulsing head and his piercing stare, she'd not the concentration left to focus on anything more than keeping herself standing.

Feet shifted behind her. She'd told them to wait. She'd told them to wait and they _were_ and no one spoke; the silence replaced the air in her lungs, sitting heavy.

"I've not the time to waste; this grows tiresome." A slight distaste, now, like she was something insignificant, something that needed wiping from his shoe.

Sajantha lifted a hand through her hair. "If this is some kind of game to you—"

"You do not like playing games?" Edwin's head tilted. "I can't think Bloodscalp would recommend anyone to this guild who lacked the basic concepts of subtlety... deception..."

Her heart skipped. A game—it _was_ a game, then. Bluffing. Did she remember how—did she have enough of her old self left—to do that?

He raised an eyebrow—there, there was a face she knew!—and a little thread of heat uncurled inside her.

"Subtlety?" she repeated. "One has to wonder why you're on board, then; you Red Wizards couldn't keep a low profile if it meant changing your clothes." In a city so against mages, too!

His eyes lightened, though a sneer curled his lips. "Let us not begin to compare taste in fashion." He lifted his chin, and she couldn't move, couldn't look down at her own ragged clothing.

" 'Begin,' aye." Jaheira bit off each syllable as if daring them to take any more of her breath. "Can we not begin?" Keeping quiet must be taking so much from her—how was Minsc managing it?—Yoshimo had no trouble, but he'd not known Edwin before this, had no history that burned inside him and rose to his tongue.

All the words that needed saying simmered inside Sajantha as she bit them back.

And just what in the hells was going _on,_ anyway; how long would they have to act like this, like this wasn't a man who she'd played word-games with, who she'd shared food and drink and song with, who had selected a spell simply to make her laugh, who had given her instruction and advice and who had helped dispel her leaking magic (who had mocked her naivete and insulted her kindness at every turn, who had berated her for not buying into his own paranoid protections, whose instinctive reaction was to destroy anything—anyone—remotely in his way, who could only value life with what use it was to him, who had disappeared without warning and left her to… to…)

Everything inside her head was a mess wavering back-and-forth, too deep to rise above.

"Enough of this." Edwin's firm voice brought her thoughts back into focus. Fingers steepled together, he surveyed the rest of the group as if only now taking note of them. Was that slight frown real, or affected? "Mae'var sent you to me to perform a task, and a task you will do. I do not care to inquire after your purpose—whatever it is—you are in the employ of a guild of thieves, and if you value your lives, you will do as I say." He tipped his head. "Do you think I am the only one observing you?"

A warning, this one unmistakable enough. Pretend they didn't know each other? Fine! Why should she care? "Are you going to tell us what this task is? Or do you expect us to _divine_ it from you?"

A pause. "I expect you to keep your objections to yourself." He folded his arms. "I have uncovered the identity of a Cowled Wizard. You will kill him for me; that is your task. Evening would be an ideal time to strike, but I shall leave the methods up to you."

Pretend they didn't know each other? Too far, he took it too far. Testing her, certainly. A bitter taste rose in her mouth along with a dozen protests, a dozen questions. She only loosed one of them: "Where can we find him?"

Edwin leaned back. Not the response he had been expecting: a biting satisfaction, to surprise him. "His home is nearby." He gestured as if the building were visible through the walls. "A three-story, with a green gate. _Do_ try not to trip over his warding." His eyes returned to her, measuring. "(A little torture might soften him up first; there is much that could be learned from him…)"

Her hands clenched. Pretend they didn't know each other? He _didn't_ know her. Not any longer. If ever he had. "Fine. But the method's up to me, you said." She threw the words over her shoulder as she stepped out the door, almost colliding with the others in her haste. _Torture._ A trembling egg churned restless in her stomach.

She held it in—made it down the stairs, made it outside—before she started heaving, the sour gall not a taste that would go away; it stuck in her mouth, even as it emptied from the rest of her.

"Are you sure you wish to do this?" Jaheira's hand settled on her back, a pressure that only set Sajantha's skin squirming, so much did every nerve still quiver.

She wiped her mouth and straightened, ignoring the tremors in her legs.

"I see little choice," Yoshimo said. "We do not wish to reveal ourselves, so we must continue to cooperate."

"Cooperate with a Red Wizard?" Minsc's broad face drew up in a scowl. "Boo warns such things never end well."

A mage, though. Of all tasks! A murder. Edwin had looked right at her, and expected her to… no. That hadn't been him. It could not have been. Yet it didn't even matter: "Yoshimo's right. We haven't a choice." But just how were they supposed to fight magic without aught of their own?

* * *

=E=

Something was wrong. Following his orders without a single sign of protest? Something was very wrong, more than the way the lot of them looked to have been chewed up and spit out by an Abyssal Maw, gnawing upon their bodies and gear alike.

Some manner of deprivation in the last handful of months had smoothed off the childish fullness of her cheeks and the new severity of her face now revealed her elvish heritage instead of her youth, bringing her eyes into stark relief, aided by the dark circles beneath them. Even that hair once curled wild instead fell in limp curves towards her shoulders.

Could it really be a surprise that she had failed to take care of herself in his absence? But there was something else at work here; that wariness darkening her eyes was new, as well. Her companions marked her well-enough, but would he have even recognized her, passing her on the street? (Not that he would ever think to take note of one so drably dressed.) For it was not even the physical changes, but… aye. Something was wrong.

 _Sad,_ Raviwr had said, but she'd shown nothing so soft.

It might have been posturing, but she'd never before had the sense to obey even the most practical of warnings when they conflicted with her ideals. It might have been, did not her whole bearing appear so altered. None of his reports had mentioned any such thing as he'd tracked her progress with Sarevok; this development must be more recent. For three months, his magic had been unable to locate her. Blasted things, these divination spells, but none of his efforts had proven fruitful.

Three months.

Edwin's jaw clenched. Damn Mae'Var's spies everywhere! Should the guild leader learn of their acquaintanceship, his suspicion would stretch to blanket Edwin, too, and if these variables kept stacking up, they might begin to undermine his efforts. Dearly did he need to speak to Sajantha without audience.

"Raviwr. Find out what transpired." If he had missed something... if it would affect all his work...

His familiar only blinked at him, strangely subdued. Edwin rubbed his forehead. "Fine." He could summon another for the task. "Go keep watch on her." A burst of eagerness washed back through their bond as the imp rocketed away.

* * *

=S=

"We have until evening." Jaheira scanned the crowds that filled the Promenade; the marketplace was bustling (stifling) in the afternoon. "What shall we do in the meantime?"

Anything, anything. Anything to release this building tension. A mage. (A murder.) It didn't matter how she felt; it was for Imoen. Imoen. The reminder didn't quiet her roiling stomach.

Torture. Could Edwin know? He always knew more than he let on. Sajantha pulled on her wrap, but it hid her markings well enough. They could do this. A mage, aye, but this Cowled Wizard was just a man. They could do this. (Irenicus, though—gods!—what was he?)

A large shadow moved beside her—she half-turned, half-jumped back—what…? Gold eyes held her gaze, a powerful intensity impossible to break from; it turned away first, and became clearer to see: a tiger. Muscles and stripes rippled in shadow as it moved behind the bars of its wheeled enclosure. It paced around—all it was allowed to do—and that but barely in the small space, a space of richly-glossed wood embossed with gold filigree. 'Twas a pretty prison.

Minsc's voice rose from behind, growing closer. "Boo's nose is twitching most furiously!" He held up his hamster—to get a better look?—and one might suppose they both wore the same curious expression.

"Does your Boo wish to see the circus, Minsc?" Yoshimo raised his eyebrows. "I wonder if you both would not make better performers than patrons."

Circus? Oh! Of course that's what they walked through: the large tent stood before them in a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors swirled together in a patchwork pattern, nearly glowing in the sunlight.

"Hey. Hey, miss."

Sajantha's skin jumped from the touch on her wrist (needles up her arm down her back), and the child let go of her hand.

"My momma's inside. She told me to wait, but… she's not come out of the tent. What do I do?" Tears streaked his chubby face. "The guard says I can't go inside, and they won't let no one out. What do I do?"

Sajantha bent to the boy's eye level. "We'll go talk to them. Alright?"

Jaheira was already heading towards the soldier posted at the entrance.

"We will find your mother. But you will be brave, little boy," Minsc's voice boomed.

His head bobbed. "Okay. Okay."

"Tears are not for children! We must arm them with the sharp sticks of righteousness to fend off such sadness!"

Yoshimo scratched his head. "I… do not think a sword is the best answer for children, either."

"Swords are always the answer! No matter the question." He looked down at Sajantha. "We will find a sword for you as well; do not worry."

Even through his tinny helmet, the worry in the guard's words came clear as they approached: "We're waiting for the Cowled Wizards to sort this out. Some manner of foul magic is involved, for no one we've sent in has come back."

"What do you think?" Jaheira turned towards the rest of them.

"It may be awhile before the Cowled Wizards arrive," Yoshimo said. "Their timing does not seem especially convenient."

Sajantha bit her lip. "If there's some way we can help…" A mysterious people-eating tent? Just what would they have to do? What could they do?

"We've lost a whole garrison squad in there, ma'am. I doubt you can do any better." Difficult to see the guard's face through his helm, but his voice was certainly unimpressed. "But I'll not stop you, if you wish to risk yourselves."

With their piecemeal gear and pale, sun-starved faces, they surely didn't look like they could fend off an onslaught of kobolds, never mind anything stronger.

"It is no risk!" Minsc's fist thumped against his chest. "Not so long as we have swords and braveness to the brim of the tall glass of goodness!"

Yoshimo touched Sajantha's shoulder. "We should be careful. No telling what's going on, if the guard can't handle it." He held out the dagger from before.

She took it with a nod; it pulled down heavily on the low pocket of her dress.

* * *

Oughtn't she feel something? For magic surely swam all around them: this place could only be an illusion, for the vast hall they stepped into looked nothing like a tent. But nothing. No telltale tingle upon her skin as she brushed against the wood paneling which should have been a canvas flap, no fluttering of the Weave's signature pulse beneath her fingertips.

Even after resting (though not so much sleeping), nothing had changed: this heaviness settled atop the empty space inside her where magic had once been. Where Imoen had been. Sajantha touched her chest.

And yet a mere illusion could not account for an entire transformation. The interior of the tent may well be on a different plane for how it didn't fit the dimensions of a tent, didn't fit the materials—this area was more akin to a palace—grand and elaborate and far too towering. Transmutation? She stared up at the too-high ceiling and its sparkling tiles with a wave of dizziness. How might this magic pass unnoticed from the Cowled Wizards, when they had appeared immediately after Imoen had… after she had…

"Aha!" Swirling smoke coalesced before them, a humanoid figure forming to block the walkway. "More wayfarers come to amuse Kalah! You must answer a riddle, of course, ere I allow you to pass."

A djinni. And all the focus she could yet cling to evaporated, as thin as the colorful vapors wisping at the creature's edges. She shook her head but could not clear it. Do you push the button?

Another game. "I won't," Sajantha whispered. The weight of the words thrashed through her head as if trying to drive her to her knees; she stumbled a step. "I won't play any more games."

And the riddle he spelled for them made no sense, numbers and names all a jumble. They used to play with such puzzles back in Candlekeep. Thirty? Forty? Her head pounded, mashing the numbers into meaninglessness. "I don't know." Sajantha pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. "You can't win these games. They're not built to be beaten." You couldn't win them, but you could always lose.

"Minsc plays with swords, not numbers! How many times must a riddle be kicked so it does not get back up?"

"You amuse me, little mortal." A grin sat strangely on the djinni's nearly-human face. "But you will get nowhere if you do not make an attempt. Being as benevolent as the mighty Kalah, however, I will allow you another opportunity. Here it is, then, my friend: The poorest have it, the richest need it, but if either was to eat it they would certainly perish. Tell me what it is!"

Minsc gave a fearsome scowl. "Riddles are for people with too much time and no butt-kicking to do!" His voice echoed in the cavernous space. "What stands against the might of Minsc and Boo? The answer is: nothing! Move aside, evil; we're coming through!"

The djinni's laughter boomed around them, lingering even as he vanished.

* * *

"My hands, my skin—I'm real again! Oh, thank you!" Unchained and illusion dispelled, the ogre guarding the next bridge had turned into a lovely elven woman, at last in alignment with the sweet tones of her voice. She beamed at them. "Thank you for believing me. We must stop Kalah before he does any more damage."

Yoshimo moved back from the group, voice quiet as he stepped closer to Sajantha. "Illusion and deception at every turn. Are we sure this is not a deeper trick? A rather shallow disguise, after all."

The true monsters—more servants of this 'Kalah'—had been disguised as humans, and the innocent circus patrons masked as monsters: illusions, but far from effective when none had acted the part; Yoshimo made a good point. Especially as Sajantha's own magic could no longer tell her truth from trick. Could they trust her…?

"Just who is this Kalah?" Jaheira asked the elf.

"Who is our pretty elf friend?" Minsc's reprimanding tone made it sound as if he were correcting her, but warmth quickly buoyed his voice back up. "We are a heroic team of evil-fighters, fighting evil where'er we go. Please introduce yourself to Boo."

"I—oh! Um." The elf's smile faltered a moment. "That's a… hamster?"

Minsc opened his mouth—about to explain his theories on Boo's fantastical extraplanar origins?—and Yoshimo leaned in, instead. "It will take too long to establish his esteemed pedigree, but suffice it to say, this is the single most brilliant hamster you will ever meet! More brilliant than the rest of us, eh, Minsc?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Jaheira muttered. Her voice rose, and she gave them a pointed look. "Let us make the introductions quickly, then."

"My name's Aerie; I work in the circus." A faint blush had risen to her face. "You're right, we've got to hurry! My uncle, he's… well, he's adopted me; he's the only family I have, really. I… I have to find him." She swallowed. "Kalah—he could be doing anything!"

Sajantha glanced back at Yoshimo. "I think we can trust her." Aerie. The name alone conjured images of open sky and sunlight.

He gave her a wry smile, hanging his head a bit in concession. "But be prepared for anything, yes?"

Aye. But not from her. Something about the elf's bright-eyed chirpy cheer, her gaze far too unclouded to be hiding anything… Illusions never quite managed to hide the truth in one's eyes. Doppelgangers came close.

Do not do this, her father (not her father) said, eyes shining. Do not go down this path.

Marble walkway slick with the moisture of the pool below it—Sajantha nearly slipped, gripping at the golden railing (tight as she had gripped the dagger).

A warm mist (not so warm as a spray of blood) covered her face as they stepped across the bridge.

"Are you alright?" Aerie blinked aqua eyes at her, the same color as the waters around them.

Waves whispered in her ears. "I'm fine. Let's just find your uncle." And the boy's mother. (And Imoen. Imoen.)

* * *

In a ballroom with vaulted ceilings, they fought through a storm of howling creatures and twisting shadows, in a dance of combat all seemed to know the steps to but she: even the slight elf offered spells of healing and an occasional bolt of magic as they struggled to pass.

"Careful! Some are illusions." Jaheira panted, knocking her stave between a wolf-man's eyes. "Engaging them only gives them power."

"Illusions!" Yoshimo ducked under a swiping paw, his katana slicing. "They seem real enough."

"It's magic that can hurt you, if you believe in it," Aerie told them.

"How are you supposed to ignore them?" Snarls and growls and cutting claws, and the softer menace of the shadow wraiths, murmuring—

"Close your eyes, and strike back only if it hurts you."

Stained glass windows sent a mosaic of colors shining across the tiles. Dagger clenched tight, Sajantha kept her eyes on the ground, vision bathed in pink, yellow, blue.

* * *

If the massive muscled figure seated upon the great sculpted throne should rise, he'd surely near twice her height. Was this Kalah a giant-kin? But Aerie seemed surprised to see him so, a surprise diverted to the menagerie of strange and fearsome creatures around him. Mouth agape, the elf's charge forward halted—her slippers slid a step on the tile—as she took in the scene. "Wh-what have you done to my Uncle Quayle?"

"Aerie, my Aerie, is that you?" A giant lump of ooze quivered. "I have no eyes!"

"No!" she cried. "Don't hurt him! Aussir nomeno oium!" The words to a dispel! But little more happened: the elf's magic was no match for the skill that had transformed the setting and all within it.

Her voice at least had signaled the rest of them into battle, and motion and magic erupted on both sides. Shrieking shadows spilled over them, a rush of fangs and fur. Illusions. Strike back only if it hurts you.

The twang of Yoshimo's arrows sang a song behind them, an accompaniment to Jaheira's chanting and Minsc's bellowing war-cries as he surged through the howling storm.

Pain sliced through Sajantha's arm—her left—her right (the dagger) stabbed into the creature's eye, and fangs released her in a slathering liquid of saliva and blood; she slashed into its face again and it fell.

Aerie's voice rose above the clash and cries of battle. A healing spell.

Clutching her arm, Sajantha spun. "No—!" Too late. White filled her vision in a blinding fire from the inside out, as if her very veins exploded to reject the holy light, and the sudden force of the floor struck her with a hard slap. Marble cold against her skin, Sajantha sucked in her breath, a layer of sweat prickled all the way across her as she tried to stand.

Aerie faltered, falling to her knees beside her. "Wh-what's wrong?" Her slim fingers wrapped around Sajantha's arm, tugging her back up.

What's wrong?

Were there words? Or time enough to speak them?

Sajantha pushed her damp hair from her eyes, shaking her head, "It's… I'm alright," and they straightened in time to watch Minsc's large sword strike through the giant-kin—for all his apparent muscle, this Kalah was quite unused to martial combat—with a cry, his powerful form collapsed, shrinking.

So did the room: they stood inside a tent.

* * *

"He only wanted everyone to respect him. I… I just can't hate him, despite everything he's done." Aerie knelt over the fallen illusionist, blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders as she shook her head. "What a pitiful little man."

Pitiful? Yet with the prideful arrogance to play with others' minds—and bodies—turning all into puppets for his own amusement. (What had been Irenicus's purpose?)

"Hmph," said Jaheira. "The gnome is dead. However he managed to perform these great feats of illusion will have to remain a mystery, it seems."

"Ah, the heroes of goodness have triumphed once again!" Minsc's delighted gaze took in the whole of the tent—its employees and patrons all returned to their normal forms—and he let out a sigh of contentment. "This is the kind of work Boo applauds; look at his tiny feet! Well. He cleans his whiskers now, but he has the heartiest of approvals!"

Aerie giggled. "You're a… a very special man, Minsc." A flush had risen to her cheeks as the dispersing crowd gave their cheers and thanks, and her eyes were shining. "So, this is what it feels like, to be a hero?"

 _We can be heroes,_ Imoen's voice rattled inside Sajantha's head, loud enough—hard enough—to hurt.

"We are all heroes! Minsc and Boo and you."

"It is good you allow the rest of us to so bask in your heroic presence," Yoshimo quipped. "I thank you for the honor of assisting." He gave Minsc and Aerie a little bow.

One small figure had worked his through the crowd, growing closer. "This the sort of work you all do, then?" The thick glasses couldn't disguise the keen eyes of the gnome, nor how quickly his gaze scanned through their group. But whatever he saw seemed to please him; his wrinkled face folded to make room for a grin.

"Oh, Quayle!" the elf's sweet voice bubbled out as she flew towards him, arms locking them into a tight embrace. "You're alright! Whatever would I do without you?"

"Oh, my darling Aerie…"

Sajantha turned away, their tearful reunion continuing behind her. Time to go. 'Twas time to go.

A throat cleared, requesting her attention; Sajantha blinked, barely enough to dislodge the blur from her eyes. When she glanced back, the old gnome stared up at her. "Perhaps you would take her with you? It's time she learn more about the world; I cannot show her everything."

"Uncle Quayle!" Aerie let out an embarrassed laugh. "Th-they don't need me getting in the way."

"Hush, now." His head bobbed in a confiding nod. "My darling Aerie is a very talented spellcaster."

Jaheira gave the elf a considering look. "We have seen some of this."

"This is a good plan, Boo agrees! No group should be without a witch." Minsc beamed at the slender young woman, all the more tiny beside him; she lit up bright enough that her cheeks turned pink.

Sajantha bit down hard on her lip. "She's right. She doesn't belong with us." Just focus on the exit: one foot in front of the other. "I'm sorry. We have to go."

* * *

Sajantha walked outside, past the soldier, past the mother and child embracing, past the long shadow of the circus tent, to the edge of the Promenade, and leaned against one of the massive pillars encircling it.

The rest of the group was not far behind her. "It is not as though we can afford to turn away possible allies, child."

Child. But surely the elf—whatever her age—was more a child. "Not her."

The sun hung low in the sky. What now? Where to go next?

 _Edwin._ Her thoughts tumbled.

Kill a man. And then, what? Sajantha covered her mouth, breathing hard through her fingers. And then, what? Twenty-thousand gold. (And then… Irenicus.) She squeezed her arms, ducking her chin to her chest. This wasn't going to work. This wasn't going to—

Focus. She needed to focus. No—she needed to sleep, to rest these limbs as heavy as her eyelids—

No. No time to rest.

Even with the crowds of people here, so few looked at the rubble marking the dungeon, skirting casually around it, already accustomed to the rocky ruins the Wizards had cordoned off. As if rope could hold it back, keep it away; like beneath the ground it didn't wait, dark and deep.

It crept under her skin and stayed there, crawling.

"We recovered some gear from the illusionist," Jaheira said after a moment. "Nothing that would fit us, of course, but we should head to the Mart and see what trades can be made."

"Alright."

Brimming with other shoppers, the store's small quarters pressed in even smaller. Weapons hung gleaming off the walls, sharp edges shining.

Someone jostled into Sajantha, knocking the air from her lungs.

"I'll just—I'll wait outside." The crush of people didn't press so close outside, and—she could breathe.

Nearly sunset, warm colors curled in the sky, their softness a contrast to all the loud colors demanding attention here on the ground, the stalls and stands draped with cloth and silks, everything from pots and plants to jewelry and woven tapestries on display. And familiar bottles.

She sidled towards the shelves of potions. Such an assortment! Every size and shape and shade, shelf after shelf.

A hundred and fifty gold—gods! The reflection in the narrow white bottle blinked dismay at her, darkening as a shadow fell over it.

"Can I help you, miss?" A slight suspicion edged the shopkeeper's standard cordiality as he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Is that a healing potion?" She pointed to a blue glass on the upper shelf.

"Aye, though we call 'em cure potions, in these parts."

"They look so different! Are they still made with… mountain flowers, was it?"

"Varies a little, depending on potency, but the minor ones—aye, I believe so." He turned, reaching up the shelves to lift down one of the bottles.

"That's a hundred for the light, five-hundred for the medium, and a pearl—a thousand—for the real serious ones."

 _Gold?_ Double what it cost up north! "Thanks. Are you always set up in this spot?" She waited for him to nod. "I'll have to come back later."

Hurrying down the steps on the landing, a shadow caught the corner of her eye. She whirled—no one there?—adrenaline surging through her.

"Heya."

Sajantha jumped. Right beside her—

A wiry woman, mouth a bit too wide to match her dainty features, peered out at her from beneath a lavender hood.

"H-hello."

"You're new in town," the hood slipped down as the woman tipped her head, "maybe you don't know the rules."

The haste potion rested heavy in her pocket. "I'm going to pay him back—when I have the money—I swear."

"Nah, it ain't that. But us Shadow Thieves, we run this town: any and all pinching's gotta go through us." The woman—a thief, then?—gestured, one hand on her hip. "If you're looking for some coin, better report in. Or don't try your hand at this again. The Guild's got eyes everywhere, and we only give out so many warnings. Name's Mook. Tell 'em I sent ya."

"Shadow Thieves?" Sajantha glanced around, but the stream of people nearest them moved to fast to hear. "I'm actually working with them already."

 _"You?"_

The woman's surprise, combined with her words, made it clear: _If you're looking for some coin?_ This Mook took her for a step above a beggar, didn't she? Sajantha's face flushed. "Do I look so pathetic as that?"

 _Let us not begin to compare taste in fashion._

"You… ya look like you could use some help." Mook squinted, as if trying to figure her out, as if there might be aught so superficially seen.

"What I could really use is a breaching wand." Surely thieves would know where to procure such a thing! Might this work, after all? "Have you any idea where I could find one?"

"You mean a wand what for fighting spellcasters?" The thief's voice came out quiet, almost a hiss. "Just what do ya need one of them for?" She cast a quick look around. "Better keep that quiet."

"I need it for a mission, for Bloodscalp." If this woman belonged to the Shadow Thieves—that made them allies, right? "It's terribly important."

"Wait—I know you. You're her, ain't ya? Sajantha." Mook made a little scoffing sound. "Took you for a copper chit down on her luck, I did."

"That's not entirely untrue." Imoen had always been the one with the luck. "How do you know me?" No bounty—she no longer had a bounty—no reason being recognized should fill her with dread, should take her feet a step back, her fingers curling for her dagger.

"Word travels fast in the Guild. Bloodscalp's already got ya working, does he?" She pursed her lips, shaking her head. "If you can't afford a potion, how you gonna afford a wand? Something like what you're talking about... that's one hefty price tag. 'Specially 'round here."

"I don't know how else to accomplish this mission." Short of enlisting a stranger, someone entirely unsuited to the task. Not that the circus elf would have studied such spells designed to duel wizards.

Mook tapped her lip. "Tell ya what. I know one fellow who might have what you're looking for. Dunno as he's so keen to part with it… saving it for someone special, he is… but, you? Hm. He just might be up for a trade; I'll ask."

As if that wasn't rather ominous. But there wasn't room to worry over everything at once. "I need it tonight."

"Nothing's free, you know. You can't just pay it back when ya get the gold, understand?"

"I haven't—I haven't got anything to trade."

" 'Ey now, no need to look at me like that; I meant some good old-fashioned hard work, yeah? I'm sure he'd be keen to secure ya on board." Mook hopped down the rest of the steps, throwing a look back over her shoulder. "Meet me at the Sea's Bounty—it's on the level right off the docks. At candleglass."

That fast? "Right. Got it. Mook…" Gods—could it really be so simply solved? Relief loosed some of the knots in her back. "Thank you."

She shrugged. "Some of us got a lot riding on you. Going after Irenicus, aren't ya? He's made his self a lot of enemies. Which just happens to give ya some friends." With a wink, the woman disappeared into the crowd.

 _Friends._ But just what might the Guild have to do with Irenicus?

* * *

"Sajantha. Are you ready?"

The others met her back on the floor level, with no soft-eyed elf in tow. Good. "Where are we going?"

Jaheira led them to the border of the Promenade, its marble steps and pillars shining pink in the sunset. "We've upgraded some equipment, but I do not feel armed. I cannot say I relish the thought of facing a mage without the means to counter his spells."

What spells would they need most against a mage? Something to strip him of his protections. Something (like her father's ring) to deflect his magic—

"Have you any spells that might serve us, Sajantha?"

Her heart skipped. "It needn't be me; there's wands which serve the same." Tonight—gods, tonight—they'd surely have one.

"She could help us." Minsc looked between them. "We do not have a witch." No, they had a bard with no instrument, a sorceress with no spells. "The girl from the circus? A caster, she said."

That sweet girl? "We're not dragging her with us to go _kill_ someone." What kind of person would do that?

A desperate person.

Sajantha crossed her arms. "We'll find some other way. Like we were going to."

Jaheira gave her head a shake, though some understanding softened the edge to her eyes. "I cannot say I like our chances. We are not equipped for such an encounter, nor do we have the gold to–"

"I'm meeting someone who can help us in a couple hours. At the docks."

Jaheira raised her eyebrows, Minsc conferred with Boo, and Yoshimo looked thoughtful. "This will give us some time before scouting out his home," he pointed out. "And waiting for the cover of darkness will keep us from nosy watchers."

"Hm." Jaheira didn't sound against it. "Perhaps we can get a bit of rest to prepare us, then."

"Ah, yes. Boo says nap time is just as important as exercise time. He has been cooped-up so long, he is getting squirrelly!"

As if that might be enough to prepare them—as if she might actually be able to sleep! Balancing the dagger's weight on the other side, the haste potion pulled down on Sajantha's other pocket. A drop on her tongue every hour could keep her alert, and it would last for days; Imoen had used one so last year.

"We need to discuss strategy. Without a caster of our own…"

"Surprise him. That's the only way to catch a mage." If he was even half so wary as Edwin, 'twould be impossible to find him off-guard.

"Within the safety of his home, he's more apt to be relaxed. Given the city, he cannot be expecting any attack." Yoshimo sighed. "It is no wonder this Edwin wishes such work done for him. No sane person would risk antagonizing the Cowled Ones."

"His home is only safe if he has defenses set up—which he surely does—traps, wardings, guardians."

"One. Edwin made it sound as if there was only one." A warning they could surely trust. He wanted them to succeed, after all, didn't he? Because… the alternative… if he wanted them dead, they would be.

The conversation continued around her, words she only half-heard.

"Many mages have an automatic barrier set up as a contingency: the moment they're under attack, it activates."

"We will need something to pierce through this."

"Only magic. Arrows of dispelling. A wand. Another spell."

"We can afford none of these. Do you recall any spells that would serve? Sajantha. Sajantha." To her—Jaheira was talking to her.

"Me? I... I can't even cast a light spell." She flexed her (too-thin) fingers (wrong, wrong, all wrong).

"Is there anything you can contribute? You have used your harp in the past to send enemies to sleep."

Anything... was there _anything..._

"Our bard does not have a harp! But Minsc has a sword, and this is all that we need. No more sad faces; it is time to crush evil! This mage is only the first on the list of evil wizards Minsc and Boo will crush. Well, Minsc will do most of the crushing—Boo is here for encouragement and occasional eye-biting—but the result is more or less the same."

"Crushed," Yoshimo repeated. "Hm. Speaking of sleep, perhaps we might drop something on him while he lies in bed?"

Jaheira glared. "Frivolity gets us nowhere."

"A net."

They all looked at Sajantha.

"From a tale, I read it; the heroes dropped a net upon a mage in slumber. Tangled up—he couldn't cast his spells—so they captured him with ease."

"And this might suffice did we only wish to capture him."

Sajantha glanced away.

"Throwing something upon him..." Jaheira pursed her lips. "Acid, perhaps. Alchemist's fire."

"The trick will be getting even so close to him without raising alarm. I can break into his room silently, but the rest of you...?" Yoshimo raised his eyebrows. "All we have on our side is his certain arrogance. The Cowled Wizards rule the city unopposed, and keep their identities secret. This makes for a man who is a very secure sleeper, I think."

Jaheira shook her head. "He is a mage."

"I believe that is a requirement to join, yes."

Yoshimo's humor did not appear to amuse the druid. "Your flippancy does not help. How many magi have you met not driven unto paranoia? He will have defenses in place."

"My father didn't," Sajantha pointed out. "He wasn't like that."

"And he is dead."

Sajantha bit down hard on her lip.

"I—I am sorry, Sajantha." Jaheira massaged her forehead. "Gorion... he was a great man. I loved him, too."

"No—I know. He wasn't a battle-mage or anything." Just a quiet scholar driven out of retirement, unable to combat the evil forces assembled against her. If he had been stronger… (No. If _she_ had been…)

She closed her eyes, covering her face in her hands. If he were here—if only he were here! If only he could hold her in his arms and tell her it would all be alright… But he hadn't said it then. And he couldn't now.

"I'm sorry," Jaheira said again, her voice muffled and far away.

Sarevok's laughter bubbled— _Gorion was never your father_ —hot blood sprayed across her face as she slashed his throat.

 _'If you are reading this…_

 _…I have always thought of you as a daughter.'_

(Godchild.)

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Ahh thank you so so much for the reviews! It's seriously helping me focus on things in the correct order and given me motivation/confidence to add more detail and attention with parts/characters I otherwise tend to avoid. x) And all kinds of things give me ideas so sharing your speculations/thoughts has already helped me to flesh out some more things (so if there's something you really want to see, it probably won't hurt to mention it). ;D  
_


	4. Backlash

**[Author's Note]:** _Posting this update sooner since this chapter isn't as long (also trying to keep myself on my toes!)... I never measured my draft into chapters, so I'm afraid they might end up rather randomly sized now that I'm trying to organize it. Thanks everyone for your interest; it is really helping to keep me on track! :)  
_

* * *

=S=

The second level from the docks. Not hard to find—far harder to miss—this would be it, then, this island of light and sound in the dark stillness of the western district, a well-lit building with loud music growing louder as the doors opened, allowing a steady stream of sailors in and out.

With but a few structures between them, Mae'Var's guildhall stood tall in the shadows down the street. There wasn't any light coming from the third-floor story. But… there weren't any windows there.

Sajantha turned back to the tavern, following her friends inside.

The Sea's Bounty was the sort of rough, dirty establishment one might expect to find in the parts of town where no guards patrolled, though with nowhere near the dark pall that hung over the Coronet—a rowdy and bawdy crowd celebrated within, more interested in their drinks than in strangers—but fortunately her contact did not keep them waiting overlong.

The thief slipped right into their circle—although they were all watching for her!—leaving even Yoshimo blinking in surprise.

"Right, then." Mook gave them a nod, grinning a bit at Yoshimo, who had tipped his head with a little bow in respect. "Here's the wand. Best be careful with it, for there ain't no others about." But Mook didn't let go of it, kept it half-drawn beneath her leather vest. "He's gonna want something from you in return. You know that, right?"

Everyone did, didn't they?

"What sort of something?" Jaheira had to ask.

"A job, a service. Some kind of task. He's not decided, so I can't be saying, either." Mook looked between them. "You still a go?"

Accounts could be settled later. The future was too blurry to matter at this point, a haze of insignificance still distant. But somehow the only thing that came into her mind was when she had first shaken Edwin's hand, a tug like gravity swirling around him—and surely lifting all the sense from her head!—as she'd made a promise with no idea how it would play out. _You can't make me kill anyone,_ she'd insisted.

Yet even that didn't matter now. "Aye."

"Good luck with your mission." Mook at last surrendered the wand. "Be seeing ya." She disappeared as silently as she'd arrived, the crowd quickly covering up her exit.

Nothing noteworthy about the slender engraved instrument, not when its function could not be identified without magic. But why would it be aught but what Mook said? _Don't think about it._ They had to trust someone. It would work. It had to work. The script for its trigger word was carved into the side; that was enough.

Sajantha tucked it in the pocket beside the dagger. "Let's go."

* * *

Less space for any to observe their infiltration from the back, so they circled 'round their target's house: the Cowled Wizard's home stood on the outskirts, overlooking the ocean; only a low stone wall separating the vertical drop to the coastline. The sound of the sea lapped gently on the rocks below, not close enough to see—unless she climbed over the fence—but close enough to hear.

Focus on that, not on the distant shouts that pierced the night, not on the dull echo of bells offshore, and maybe—maybe—it could almost be like the cliffs of Candlekeep, sea spray fresh in her nose. Sajantha took in a deep breath, then looked behind her, where her elven vision picked the silhouettes of her friends from the darkness.

"It is good the wizard mentioned the ward. I spotted no traps about the entrance, but there is a layer of protections—do you feel that?" Yoshimo gestured, hand raised just above the stone wall.

"Aye," said Jaheira. "Like ants crawling about the skin."

 _Nothing._ Sajantha drew her hand back from the window. "I would have blundered right into it, I suppose." Not that any of them could fit through the metal bars protecting each pane of glass.

Why could she no longer sense magic? But—there—a faint shine shimmered through her vision, like oil over water.

The wand's power could dispel it, could cut through any arcane barrier of such low energy. The activation word was inscribed in the side; the Draconic slashes grooved beneath her fingertips. " _Leor."_

Magic— _there!_ —surged out, but inward, a backlash that rocked through her; the wand hit the ground as she staggered, taking in a breath that seared through her.

"Is something wrong with the wand?"

Was it something wrong with the wand? Or... something wrong with her? "No—" Catch her breath, just catch her breath— "No. It worked." The liquid light reflecting where it oughtn't had vanished: the glass shone clear. So what had gone wrong?

Her nose tickled—the fingers she wiped it with came away red—a pressure compacted her lungs, as if from a captured cough needing out. But that's not what would come out. Something… something was wrong.

"Sajantha? Are you alright?"

Keep going. They couldn't stop now. Healing potions were a hundred gold. "Fine." A tight cramp pierced her chest as she bent down to retrieve the wand.

"I will locate his bedroom and ensure he is asleep."

"You? Pardon, Miss Jaheira, I had no idea you were so proficient in stealth."

"Mice are." And with no warning, Jaheira shrank—in a flash, the bulk of her had disappeared—a small rodent in her place.

"Oh!" Minsc grinned, reaching down. "Is this a new friend for Boo? He will be so excited to—"

The mouse let loose an indignant squeak.

"Yes, alright, there will be time for introductions later." Minsc gently lowered her through the barred window. "Step lightly, little paws!"

Yoshimo shook his head at Minsc's loud whisper, then turned towards Sajantha. "Tell me about this Edwin, if you would."

Heat prickled all along her skin; she rubbed her arms. "What do you want to know?"

"He seems to have some high placement in the guild, so he must be capable. Dangerous."

"Aye." If two words could sum him up. Smug and smirking when he was getting his way, irritated and impatient when he was not. And the night before he'd left, when he'd helped quell the storm of magic battering free of her, he'd been something else, too, something quieter. Even if he'd gone back to arguing with her soon enough. "I didn't really expect to see him again." Nor when they'd left him in Nashkel, but he'd turned up again in the bandit camp. Coincidence? Fate? He'd been surprised to see them, too. This time, though…? _I don't believe in destiny. I believe in opportunity: we make our own fates._

"He is _evil,"_ Minsc announced. "An enemy of Rashemen. He was going to kill my sweet Dynaheir!"

"He didn't. He didn't, though! He cooperated just fine." Until he'd left, disappearing without a word.

Gods! Insides twisting, she sat down. The haste potion accelerated her heartbeat to a flutter beneath her fingertips trying to flap away, her whole stomach a churning of butterflies intent on escape. Was she going to throw up again? Her palms were cool against her head as she leaned forward.

"Do you trust him?" Yoshimo asked quietly.

"I…" Since the moment her magic had risen, swirling away all her doubts as they sealed their deal with a handshake… "Everyone told me not to. That I was stupid to." And then he'd left her, as if to prove them right. "But…"

A scrabbling at the window—

Minsc reached down, lifting the shape-changed druid free. "Look at that twitching nose! What did our mouse-Jaheira see?"

"Perhaps you should first set her down," Yoshimo suggested.

Minsc stood back, allowing her room to transform.

Jaheira shook out her hair as she rose. "Second floor. He sleeps; a golem—and a warding—guards his slumber. Mephits watch the first floor."

"Eh, I cannot say I am fond of the little bastards, but the mephits will be little trouble save for as alarm."

"We will need to reach the golem before he is alerted." Jaheira began to pace. "If we kill it swiftly, we can turn our attention to him. But we cannot survive an attack by both at the same time."

"Should we wait 'til he wakes? Maybe if they're not in the same room." Catching him unaware sounded impossible! Why had Edwin suggested they strike now? _Edwin._ He would know what to do, would have a plan already. And even if he hadn't, even if they just stormed right up there, he'd still be able to deal with whatever the Cowled Wizard threw at him, wouldn't he? Why had he chosen to delegate _this_ task, of all things?

 _A test._ (No—no more tests—) Sajantha bowed her head, swallowing down the sick feeling inside her.

"The wand is our only real advantage." Yoshimo gave Sajantha an apologetic look. "No nets or miniature-rodent assaults for us, if even his bed is protected. And the golem will be trouble."

Golems… what all went into the constructs? Had she any knowledge which could help? "Some kinds of golems have trapped elemental spirits to animate them. Sometimes they get loose, go berserk. Do you think there's any way to trigger that?" Edwin would know, _Edwin would know_ , a litany she could only keep from her tongue by biting down on it.

"We will have to split up. There is nothing for it." Jaheira came to a stop and her sharp eyes glared at the window. "The mephits will likely wake him, and he will send the golem down. We use a fire potion to take out the mephits—Minsc and I will hold the golem—and you and Yoshimo go upstairs. He cannot expect to be attacked before his construct is defeated, so we may still retain some advantage of surprise."

"You use the potion of invisibility," Yoshimo agreed. "I will sneak up after you."

Her mouth went dry. Alone?

"If you have any spells, Sajantha... it may be a good time to risk it."

"I don't." Sajantha touched her head. When she reached for the Weave, nothing but a still silence waited. Would she risk a wild surge, even so? "What am I doing," she whispered. Why were they here? Why did they have to kill this man? What had he done?

No. Don't think about it. Don't think. _Imoen. For Imoen._

 _Magic._ The briefest brush of its memory set her skin crawling, but her hand tightened around the wand; it lay like a dead thing in her grasp, a heavy weight without a spark of power for her to detect. "One or two shots should make it through whatever protections he has in place. We just need to avoid his spells 'til then."

"You make this sound easy," said Minsc. "Much easier than I think it will be."

No mage with them, no way to counter his spells, no way to know what he had prepared, what schools of magic he studied.

Gods—gods! What was she _doing?_ This was stupid—this was so stupid. As if they could actually… He would lift his hand and the air itself would catch fire and—

"Sajantha."

She flinched.

Jaheira held out a bottle. "Drink the invisibility potion. Yoshimo will be right behind you, as soon as you release the magic. Alright?"

Cool glass reached her numb fingertips. "Alright."

* * *

There was time for only the briefest study of the mage's comfortable home before bedlam broke loose: a flurry of small reptiles battered her with leathery wings, their weak magic streaking by; the sear of the exploding flame-potion heated Sajantha's back as she raced to the staircase.

The golem came rumbling down, a rocky monstrosity two heads taller than even Minsc.

If only she were strong enough to give it a kick down the stairs, but she had to hug the wall as it lumbered past. Yoshimo was somewhere behind her. Hurry, hurry.

A spell flew—at her, past her?—the mage was ready, whether he aimed at her or those behind. Maybe only regard for his home kept him from sending the entire stair up in flames; the blast was just concentrated enough to miss her as she dove further into the room, through a searing cloud of smoke.

She shot the wand through it—half-blind—and a cramp seized her middle; she crumpled to the ground, gasping—another spell streaked by overhead, a blast striking the wall behind her. All her muscles clenched from the spasm shaking through her; the wand rolled from her grasp.

Another wave of magic shook the room. Her hand fumbled. All-blind, now: where—where?

Her lungs didn't work or the air didn't work; her quickened breaths helped not at all. Wiping her face, her hand came away red. Nose bleeding, it thickened through her throat. But her vision had cleared.

There!—she dove forward—the wand had caught beneath a chair. As careful as she aimed, her grip still shook. One shot. Only one more shot; she'd not manage another.

Easy to spot with that glowing orb protecting him, the mage's hands had lifted to throw another spell.

" _Leor!"_ The power burst both ways—pressure surged in through her ears, building 'til a pain shivered down into her bones—she slumped to her knees. The wand clattered against the floor.

The glow around him faded out. A burst of red—Yoshimo standing behind him, dagger lifted—

The room went dark.

* * *

The first floor had been hit by a battle as destructive as that on the floor above, leaving chairs and tables splintered, walls cracked, shelves fallen.

Sajantha held her arms closely as she picked her way down the damaged staircase.

"Here." Standing decidedly unsteadily, Jaheira was holding out a healing potion.

"You need it more than I—look at you!"

The shoulder of the druid's leather armor was torn enough to reveal deep bruising beneath it, not to mention the blood traveling down her hairline, pooling at her neck. Jaheira winced, leaning back against the wall, and sipped at the potion. "I should… once I am recovered… I should be strong enough to channel more healing magic."

Yoshimo's own wince was one of sympathy. "You are lucky that thing did not smash you to a pulp."

The defeated construct lay in a scattered stony heap, and Minsc lay sprawled beside it, looking nearly as disjointed. "Eh…" he said. "A little too much exercise after such a long time locked up."

Yoshimo was the only one still light on his feet; he poked about the room. "Anything we can use, do you think?"

"We should see if there's anything on this prison of theirs." With the potion downed, Jaheira's color was returning to normal. "Though I do not expect the Cowled Ones keep such materials in their private dwellings."

Sajantha's fingers grazed over familiar worn spines as she passed a relatively-intact bookshelf. _History of the Chosen of Mystra._ Would Tethtoril be penned within its pages? She lowered her hand. Never mind the miles, Candlekeep was a lifetime away.

But she had other problems. This mess, for one: the wreckage of a once carefully-kept home. What would happen if someone saw it? "Should we... try to clean up?" A resurgence of fatigue left her muscles nearly limp, and Sajantha reached for the haste potion with shaking fingers.

"There is no way we can lift the golem, even in pieces." Jaheira let out a sigh.

"You are on your last legs." Yoshimo shook his head. "If anyone is to come looking for him, they will not do so before morning, and we may as well take what we can carry."

"Aye." A pity they hadn't the means—nor strength—to carry much. Sajantha shrugged. "May as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb." And they needed the money, whatever they could manage.

Jaheira's gaze zeroed in on her.

"If we've already killed him." It may as well look a robbery, too. "That's… that's the phrase, isn't it?" Or would it be 'a lamb as a sheep,' in this case?

"Why would anyone hang sheep _or_ lambs?" a puzzled Minsc asked. "Boo will not explain this. I think he is tired."

"That is a question more alert minds may answer," Yoshimo agreed. "Let us report to the wizard, and then report to bed!"

* * *

Right where they'd left him: Edwin sat at his desk, surrounded by straightened piles of papers, neatly-stacked rolls of scrolls, and a thick tome with tabs of notations clustered between its pages. He didn't look up. The blue-green gem on his bracer glittered in the mage-light as he moved, writing onto a piece of parchment. No inkwell in sight, so that quill-pen must have an enchantment (like the ones she'd used to scribe in Candlekeep).

Sajantha curled her fingers into fists. "It's done."

Late though the hour was, neither the news nor their presence appeared to surprise him. "I know." He made another mark, then set down the pen. "Little can be said for your polish, but the results speak enough."

"Now what?"

His chair turned, and he held out his hand. "Let me see that wand."

How did he…? "Why?"

"Give it to me." A stranger, this Edwin who stared at her with this flatness, those eyes that took all the light and reflected none back.

Sajantha looked away, tugging the wand from her pocket, and held it out. Perhaps he could tell: "Is something wrong with it?" A curse, perhaps?

"Hm." With something like care, his hands glided over it. "Not that I can see."

The perfect opportunity to make some crack about divination—what did he know to look for, even? Of course he didn't see anything! He glanced up at her as if aware of what words she held back, but he with his dark eyes held back far more; she couldn't even hold his gaze.

The others waited—quietly, if not patiently—a tension at her back that tightened her chest.

She stared at his hands. "Give it back."

Those long fingers—with the shine of sharply manicured nails, so carefully casually elegant—paused in their examination.

"It's mine." Along with whatever price it ended up costing her. "Give it back."

He didn't react, like he couldn't even hear her. Like he still didn't know her.

Heat surged behind her eyes. "I'm not playing your stupid game anymore!"

Slow and deliberate, he rose to his full height, making use of every inch of it as he stepped too close. "You forget your place."

Breath coming fast, she glared at his chest, all that she could see without lifting her gaze.

He slid the wand up his sleeve. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

Spying, of course he had been spying on them; her face flamed. "He's _dead._ What else do you want?"

"Hn." He returned towards his chair, but did not settle into it. "It seems 'courtesy' is too much to ask for. Mae'Var will be pleased to hear of your cooperation, I'm sure."

"We did what you wanted." Killed someone. Someone she'd not even known before today. Not that she knew him any better, after (after Yoshimo's dagger dug deep between his shoulder-blades, throat split open to finish the job), once she'd torn his magical armor to tatters.

"And so surpassed the exceedingly low expectations I had of you." An eyebrow raised. Almost. Almost him. But him locked so tight behind something.

She stared up at him and didn't have any words. No, there were far too many words, just no space to say them. She pressed her lips together, but some still slipped free: "I don't want to play this game anymore," she whispered.

"This is not over." He tipped his head towards her, voice low. "We will speak later, if you wish to quibble over coppers. Now, you've an hour yet before middark; perhaps time enough to reflect upon proper conduct before we next meet?"

"Next?" Jaheira asked.

"You cannot imagine I am done with you." He smiled. "Return tomorrow. The night is late, already... eyes are widest open in the daylight, yes? Midmorn should serve."

* * *

The Coronet may well have been miles away for the way the dark night stretched before them. As they walked, the murmur of ocean waves gave way to scattered shouts and calls ringing through the evening, and crunching steps on gravel smoothed to worn cobblestone as they returned to the slums.

"More riddles and tricks," Minsc sighed. "Doing the bidding of thieves and Wizards churns like a hamster running a wheel in my belly."

"Let us hope the blame for the Cowled One's death falls on the Guild, and not upon our heads." Yoshimo gave an uneasy glance around.

"This is why we cannot trust him." Jaheira leaned heavily on her staff as she shook her head. " 'Game?' We are no more than pieces in his."

"He's playing, too; it's just a role." Wasn't he? He had to be.

"One he excels at." Jaheira gave Sajantha a look.

"We don't know." She tugged her shawl closer in the cool night air. "We don't know what he's doing there." He would have an explanation, though; he would have a reason.

"The four of you once traveled together?" Yoshimo asked.

"Aye." Jaheira stared ahead. "Back when we were seven."

Sajantha focused on the ground, rough and dark and cracked, but her quick steps left it a blur.

* * *

The candle ran out with a flicker—a last gasp—as the flame met only oil; the room went dark. Blood pounded through Sajantha's ears. The blankets hiding her muffled her heartbeat as it roared, fighting the silence.

" _Itmen mitne. Itmen mitne!"_

Nothing. Her magic had guttered out, as dead as the candle. Darkness crawled over her skin, filled every breath she sucked in. Her imagination, nothing else: no one was here. (Imoen wasn't here.)

Nothing. Nothing but her breath coming faster, and the shadows that swarmed at the edges of her vision, growing like they could reach her, touch her (take her back); they tugged at her heels as she stumbled to the door—threw it open—and sound poured over her, bathed her, drowned her.

The muted clatter of silverware, of mugs, of mundane daily life filtered through the hall; eating and conversation so unfamiliar in their familiarity, like a language she could not speak anymore. Even in the middle of the night, the crowd at the Coronet was little lessened, and even the candlelight was strong enough to leave her blinking.

She stared over the short railing towards the common area below. There—red bright enough to sting her eyes—the sight sent a jolt all the way through her, almost enough to send her sagging back against the wall. But, he'd seen her—that hooded head lifted—

Gods! Now what? Spine straight, she held the rail; him too far to see how tight she gripped it, her long dress would hide her shaky legs.

 _Don't fall, don't falter._ Difficult enough to ensure as she passed through the tables with no banister to steady her balance, here in this sea of pirates and rogues, where their pungent smells alone could leave her light-headed.

A mug of ale rested upon the table, untouched 'til he moved it to the side. "Ah," Edwin said as she neared, "I was beginning to believe my message must have eclipsed your brain power." 'Message?' Just what had he said? Something about the next time they met… coppers… middark...

A sharp pain spiked through her head. Arrogant, as always! "You couldn't believe I'd just not come?"

He shrugged. "Why shouldn't you? Here you are: it seems I was right. Though I do not appreciate being kept waiting." How could he be so calm? So calm—so certain—such a contrast to the turmoil churning within her.

Did she even have a choice? Sajantha fell into the seat across him—her legs might give out, otherwise—and tried not to tremble. Her lungs still weren't working right; it took too many breaths for the air she needed. He was here. He was still here. For how long? "You think you've some sort of right to my time, like I'm supposed to answer to you? Like I'd forget you just walked out on us."

"Has it set you back so much? You are still alive, I see."

If only just. "Others weren't so lucky." If one could call it that.

His hands came up, interlacing as he set his weight upon his elbows. "I am here, now."

Leaning forward, he took up too much space (too much everything too much), and she leaned back, but this space had no air, either; her voice, it shook, it cracked, it broke against the truth she could not rise from: "You _left._ " A crack through her—all the way back to before—and everything else piled above it waited to fall in, ready to bury her with the weight of all that had passed.

And who knew if he understood, now—if he had ever understood—because she couldn't look at him anymore, couldn't look at anything; the whole room blurred, but she would not cry in front of him, she would _not–_

Sajantha stood up. Slowly. Carefully. Pushed in the chair. _Don't fall. Don't falter._

One foot in front of the other. One foot–

Raviwr—seated on the back of the chair before her—folded his tiny fingers in a wave.

Her feet came to a stop, and all the tears caught up, caught in her throat.

And Edwin had caught up, too—he stood behind her—she could feel it feel it with every fiber in her body, knew it even before he spoke her name.

* * *

=E=

"Sajantha."

Blonde hair hid her neck, falling in tangled strands nearly to her shaking shoulders; she would not face him. "Don't look at me."

He reached to turn her back towards him—

She jerked away, keeping her eyes covered. "Don't look at me!"

What in the hells was going on! "Tell me what happened. I must know."

Only then did she lower her hands: tears filled her eyes—too full—as if her will outweighed gravity to keep them from spilling. "If it matters so much to you," defiance sparked through her tears, "maybe you should have been there." She whirled, stiff steps carrying her away quickly, up the stairs, out of sight.

Edwin sank back into his seat, glancing over at Raviwr. This reunion could have gone one of several ways—he'd prepared for a variety of them—but, this… Hm. Just what did it mean? This manner of resistance could set things back considerably.

The imp held out his hand: a sparkle glimmered in his palm.

"You believe plying her with gifts will accomplish something?" She was hardly some shallow trollop, to be bought off with trinkets!

Tiny shoulders shrugged.

"Leave her be. She clearly does not wish to be disturbed."

"You smart, Master, but you not so smart."

'Twas not as though the imp could make matters worse. Edwin waved his familiar off. "Do as you like, but be quick about it; we've work to do." None had followed him, but the likelihood of this cesspit being free of informants was foolish to lay odds upon, and some ties had best be cut before suspicion had time to take root.

Lingering about this dungheap had wasted enough time already. Truly, he'd endured all manner of squalid locales of late; 'twas past time for a change of scenery. At least this business with Mae'Var looked to be concluding shortly; the next stage of the plan was far more promising. So long as it could be secured.

It was far too late to turn back now.

* * *

=S=

Sajantha scrubbed her face. The dirty mirror couldn't offer a reliable reflection, but surely this was a stranger staring back above the basin, eyes far too dark.

Something blurred behind her reflection, a sound, she spun—dagger, where was her dagger!—sweeping across the dresser, her reaching hand collided with something, a crashing cacophony of glass and a crunching beneath her foot as she caught her balance, stepping back. She fell back against the mattress, feet off the floor—too late—the pain hit her a moment later; she sucked in a breath.

"Sorries," said the imp, hopping up beside her on the bed. "Raviwr is sorry."

"It doesn't matter." She picked the shards of the shattered candle jar from her foot and stared at the red beads. Refracted in the light, they almost seemed to glow. "It's nothing."

She looked up; his hand hovered open between them.

"Oh!" Rose quartz. The small stone glimmered in his tiny palm, the same pink-red of his eyes. "You... you kept it."

He didn't lower his hand.

She swallowed. "You mean, for me? No, I couldn't. It was a gift, you see." He'd held onto it this whole time? "I'd only sell it, anyway; I need money very dearly, I'm afraid."

Raviwr froze a moment, then vanished. Teleported, or invisible? 'Twas not as if she could tell.

She turned back to the mess, to where the glimmers of glass stood out on the coarse wood floor; it did not take so long to gather the remaining pieces.

Nor did it take so very long for Raviwr to reappear, holding a folded cloth.

"Where did you get that?"

He only gave her a grin, the same kind of satisfied smirk Imoen wore when she'd pulled off a successful prank.

Sajantha looked away. "Thank you." She dabbed at her foot with it before addressing the red smears upon the floor. "But don't… please don't teleport in on me again, alright?"

Raviwr was torn between bobbing his head agreeably and ducking it in—shame? Remorse? For his shoulders sagged as if embarrassed.

"It's alright; I know you didn't mean to scare me." But just why had he come? "Did Edwin send you to look after me?"

"Nope."

"Well. I suppose he's plenty more important things on his mind." She cleared her throat. "That's quite sweet of you. I hope you won't get into trouble on my account; will he not miss you?"

"Master is busy bringing down Mae'Var."

"He is?" The towel fell from her fingers. "Did he tell you to say that?" Surely he'd guessed their purpose was the same.

"He not tell Raviwr not to tell you." The imp wore a sharp-toothed smile. "He also not tell Raviwr not to tell you the reward he gets for it."

Her heartbeat picked up. "A reward? How much gold, do you think?"

"Raviwr does not know a number."

"Do you think–" She stopped to sigh. "It's not as if he would share it, would he." Trade for it, though. But what did she have to offer him? How painfully clearly he'd let her know she had nothing he wanted, by leaving them behind without even a farewell.

"Raviwr will talk to him. How many golds you want?"

"Lots. More than he'd be willing to lend, I'm sure, even did he have it." That kind of gold would take years and years for a common person to amass! Not that Edwin was anything like common.

The imp shrugged. "It's not the golds Master cares about."

If she were being honest? 'Twas not his gold she cared about, either. Minsc thought they needed a witch? But what about a _wizard?_


	5. Turncoat

**[Author's Note]:** _Thank you guys again for the comments! They are really helping me on a lot of levels* and I can also take some lessons from there and apply them to future/current things. ;) So I ended up filling in a bit more with this chapter (and it got long enough to cut it into two, agh!). Anyway, you're all reminding me of important things and giving me all kinds of extra ideas how to enrich it—so you're all helping me make this better—so big 'thank you!' :D_

 _*updated the 'circus' section of Chapter 3!_

* * *

=E=

Someone was outside, and taking no pains to hide it, though the ruckus on the exterior stairs (a rickety contraption at the best of times) didn't deserve Edwin's attention until it became clear the noise was moving _up._ Almost racket enough to set off his wards, did it climb any closer (and all should know of his wardings by now).

Unusual, especially for the hour: once darkness fell, the thieves crawled free of the guildhall to scurry about the city like the pesky vermin they were. So what was going on outside?

"Raviwr—" But the imp had stayed behind at the Coronet.

Hmph. No work could be done with this going on, but it required little effort to remind anyone _why_ they ought not disturb a Red Wizard; Edwin descended the stairs to find a rather chaotic tangle of four figures had stumbled into the practice room.

"M-Master Odesseiron!" A red bandana wrapped about his head gave the thief a rather frivolous affectation instead of the carefree, cocksure look he intended (all the more undercut by his current frantic state). "You… can you help? Zyntris here is bleeding out, and—"

Two of them had clearly been injured, this Zyntris being carried—dragged?—by Bandana, and beside them, a woman leaned heavily against a pony-tailed man. Names… hm. Their names were upon a list upstairs, a list of thieves designated towards low-level break-ins. Naught they'd been assigned had been of especial risk, nor explained the mess they'd tracked in. Enough to concern him?

"I am not here to be made use of at your disposal." Edwin ignored the bleating pleas of Bandana and his wounded friends; hands hovering above his spell pouch, he turned to the doorway: the wounded man had leaked a thick red smear of blood that disappeared out the door. The still-ajar door.

Did something follow them? But… no. Their fear was for their comrades, not of pursuit. He dropped his hands from his spell pouch to his hips. As if he must involve himself with every inconsequential thing which happened beneath this flimsy roof! Without a battle to be fought, "This is not my problem."

"Please. Zyntris here, he needs some help."

Indeed, the poor fool's eyes were already glassy, and his complexion lacked color enough to suggest he sorely missed that which had emptied from him.

Just what did they expect _Edwin_ to do? "I am a wizard, not a cleric. (Any health-transferring spells I know will assuredly not help _you_.)"

"T-Tarmikos. He's got to know some, don't he?" Ponytail swallowed. "I mean, I seen him use some spells…"

Tarmikos? Pfeh. As if the priest of Cyric had ever channeled healing magic for anything altruistic. "It is too late." Edwin pointed at the gray-skinned rogue whose chest had surely been shredded (and being hauled about had done him no favors); naught but a specialized healer could act fast enough. "Focus your efforts upon the other."

Still leaning upon Ponytail like a crutch, the injured woman stared without appearing to be aware of much.

"Just what happened?"

When she opened her mouth, a trail of blood snaked past her lips; making no sound but a wet gurgle, she clutched at her throat. (Perhaps this one was not long for the world, either.)

"They went out looking for Evaine." Bandana hadn't given up attempts to staunch the bleeding, already red to his wrists as he pressed down against the soon-to-be corpse. "We split after hitting our mark last night—a right clean score!—but ain't no one's seen hide nor hair of her since."

"I think," Ponytail glanced around, "I think Gorvin pulled a cure potion outta one o' the practice doors the other day. We could check in those!"

Well over a dozen doors (two of which were actually functional) and wall-safes lined the room; any healing potions locked within would take a great deal of effort, time, or luck to break free. None of which this party appeared to have spare.

"Haven't you got any spells?" Bandana begged. "You've gotta do something!"

"I must do nothing." Edwin grit his teeth. "You dare speak to me so?"

With his emotion overriding (what could not be especially strong) brainpower, the fool did not back down. "You're one of us—something's out there _killing us—_ shouldn't you oughta care enough to kill it back? If ye won't even help us here!"

'Care?' He was supposed to care about their wretched lives when they would all of them be dead before the tenday was out? Bah! Edwin's hands clenched into fists. Was it too late to demand they die quietly so he could return to his work? But so badly wishing this stage complete did not make it so. (Nor was the pile of papers awaiting him especially interesting.)

"Perhaps I do find myself with a great desire to unleash magic." Little opportunity as he had to do so of late: may as well stretch his legs. Edwin looked down at the woman, who had sank to the floor, and stepped around her. Five minutes, perhaps ten. An investigation could be feigned so long as that, long enough that things should have quieted by the time of his return. Still a headache itched behind his eyes.

Edwin pointed again at the lost cause, sending a glare to Bandana. "Leave that one and search out a potion." Perhaps they would be lucky and find one that had not yet been horded unto Mae'Var's stash.

Cool night air greeted him as he stepped out to scan the shadowed streets. The din from the Sea's Bounty drowned out the sounds of the actual sea, as well as any possible clues, though the blood-trail looked to have begun northeast.

Their attacker would likely be gone by now, and the only question was what had become of this missing thief, but as the coven had some terribly depraved ideas of what to do with their prey, the odds of recovering the wretch were low enough not to bother.

But _he_ still had a game to play. The rogues might monitor his progress from here (best at least appear as if he were truly searching); Edwin headed through the back alley, maneuvering around barrels dripping with the ripe stench of mildew, and his boot-heels crunched over broken glass, filling his nose with the sharp stink of spirits.

What Red Wizard before had been made to suffer such distasteful locales? _Gods!_ Embarrassing, all of this. Were it not for the prize awaiting him…

A familiar presence grew closer, though left no other feeling but the prickling of talons upon his shoulder as the imp settled in.

"How did it go?" Even so subdued as he was, Raviwr could keep no secrets from him. Sajantha was… she was fine, else the creature would behave far differently, would be acting with the same idiocy which had prompted the Bandana to outgrow his sensible fear of Edwin and order him about (like some low-ranking cut-purse!).

Edwin grimaced. A few days more of this, that was all. Suffering a bit of the disrespect he had taken such care to snip out was a small price to pay to avoid calling any of Mae'Var's attention when the stakes had risen so. (How in all the hells had Sajantha managed to blunder directly into this? One could hardly call this magnetic draw toward trouble a 'talent,' but 'twas a topic she never failed to excel at.)

Loose papers lit up briefly as they passed beneath a street-light, a fish-tinged breeze blowing them through a rustling pile of trash.

"Evicted you from her room, did she?" Edwin eyed the creature: Raviwr rolled a gemstone between his clawed fingers. "(I told you she would not appreciate your little 'gift.')"

The imp's voice burst out over his sulkiness as if singing along to an insipid tune: "Raviwr knows more than Master, he does. Knows-knows-knows. Nose." And then a knobby thin finger reached up into his beak-like nose, digging about—ugh!—Edwin shook him off, and Raviwr let out a trumpeting sneeze, emitting a cloud of golden dust.

Specks of glitter settled to outline a figure not a dozen feet from them, its features obscured by a paleness so acute as to glow within the sparkling haze. Leather armor hung from its lithe form in tattered fragments.

An instinctive chill swept over him as its crimson gaze connected. Edwin reached towards his spell pouch. "Go back to your mistress."

The creature warbled out a hiss, phlegm or blood in its still-red throat; half-crouched, it backed up. Even a fledgling should know better! Had her control not yet been made manifest? Very little in the way of independent intelligence, but the newly-turned spawn were something to be wary of even so. And _quick._ The little distance between them would leave no time to react should the fledgling succumb to instinct; Edwin's glyph wavered as if undetermined how to gauge the threat.

The Wizards tended to ignore minor arcane events in the docks (they'd done nothing about the periodic zombie attacks, which surely marked a necromancer's presence!), and with the resident Cowled Fool conveniently out of the way…

" _Ifni arcaniss nif kous."_ Reaching to gather the weaves and bend the space around him, his spell allowed him extra space—extra time to react—Edwin lifted a wand, even as he blinked through his blurred vision at the dimensional shift. " _Back!"_

A snarl widened the dark hole of its mouth— _kept_ widening, darker, larger—the vampire's form erupted into a surge of black. The cloud of dark fog dissipated into the distance, and the night fell as still as his glyph.

Well. That answered what happened to the missing rogue.

Sound slowly returned, lapping like the waves just out-of-sight, rippling into the merriment from the drunkards just down the street. Edwin glanced towards the warm lights of the tavern and a weight settled back onto his shoulder.

"Trouble, Master?"

He slid the wand back into his belt. Sajantha's would be the true test, tomorrow. "Always," he murmured.

* * *

=S=

It was easy to forget the time of day down here (no windows no light) it was easy to forget the mission (don't fall don't falter) it was easy to forget _everything_ when the guild leader asked them (ordered them) to report in downstairs.

 _The dungeon,_ the others called it, these dark-garbed figures roving through the shadows, lining the halls and all the walls down here, watching (waiting). For them to slip? _Tell me why I should not kill you._ A single misstep could damn them all.

Down here, the stink of blood and sweat (pain and fear) hung heavy: only death lived in this dark basement, and the usher of it stood before them, a smile painted on his face as his eyes stared out (from a mask).

"Edwin tells me you performed beyond expectations." Mae'Var's mouth moved in his smile-that-was-not-a-smile. "This is quite the recommendation, coming from him. I am pleased to hear it, for we may soon discuss a more... permanent position for you."

Behind him, a scream trailed off to a tremble that traveled to shake through her.

Sajantha rooted her feet, dug down deep, but then she saw him (what was left of him): the man who lay moaning on the table behind the guild leader. A metal grating carved the floor beneath him, a tinny echo laced the air when it caught drips.

Her head so light—so empty—it might float free, with nothing to anchor her but the heavy air that filled her lungs to bursting, her breath a scream she could not release.

 _Run run run_ she would fall here in this dungeon of death; the darkness seeped into her pores, tugged at her edges, looking for a way in— _looking—_ those eyes stared at her, studied her, digging in like fingers ( _do you see?_ ) he would see he would _know_ —

She took a step back.

A brief pressure on her shoulder—a clenching hand, a flash of red—and a cloak swished past her; its owner moving to stand behind Mae'Var, pointed fingers disappearing behind sleeves as he folded his arms.

She bit her lip, tasted blood. Sharp and sweet, it pierced through the thick cloud around her.

Edwin's eyes were nearly lost beneath the shadow of his hood, but she kept her gaze fixed on him, kept her ears fixed on him, kept her mind fixed on him.

"I've another task they may be of some assistance with," said Edwin. "If you can manage to spare them, of course." He returned her gaze, such a weight to it she could not look away.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Whatever you need." Mae'Var was already distracted, attention slipping back to the table. He rubbed his hands. "I'd best get back to work." The guild leader glanced up once more, his flat eyes freezing a moment her heart. "Return to me, if you should need anything."

* * *

=E=

"Come." Only one exit usable from the room (no point in revealing Mae'Var's secret bolt-hole was not-so-secret): they trudged behind Edwin single-file up the stairs to a side door.

Outside, the afternoon sun beamed down, especially bright after the basement. The ringing of a fisherman's bell nearing the docks provided little cover, but none would eavesdrop upon them out here (far more than could be said for inside), a rare few hung about this area, in any case, for most ignored the building and its occupants with the routine of long practice.

"It is good to be out of there." The Kozakuran shivered.

The Harper's eyes, squinting against the sun, narrowed even further as she cast her glare toward Edwin. "How can you stomach working for such a creature?"

As if their own goals had not maneuvered them unto the same! "You will believe whatever you wish to of me; does my answer matter?"

"You—" The overgrown brute looked to be struggling for words (an occurrence that ought be more common, did he bother to think at all); perhaps his dear rodent had grown distracted. "If there is one thing my sword knows how to find, it is _evil!_ Evil must be destroyed for the good of all, and you—you work for a monster as evil on the outside as you are on the inside!"

'Evil,' pfeh! Further proof the Rashemi had but the intelligence of a child. "Should you like to test your sword against my magic? I much preferred your insipid silence, you brainless buffoon; close your mouth lest you wish to give away your team's purpose."

"You have no right to speak to him so." The druid's eyes blazed.

"I have _every_ right!" An angle did not exist in which this was not the case! "What I do _not_ have is time for this. You will obey me if your skins are worth aught at all to you (for they are surely worth little to me; see how far you may push me)." Well. All but one of them.

But Sajantha did not even appear to be paying attention. Nor had she grown any less pale out in the sunlight.

Edwin faced her. "Your brief stint as a spy fails so early? I had hopes for you. You could have cost us far more than I was willing to spare." So nearly had she given the game away! "Have you not done enough to interfere with my plans?" His tidy arrangement was coming to such a sloppy end—her mere _presence_ was enough to disrupt all he'd organized!

Arms curled around herself, she turned away.

He looked to the others. "Just what did I miss?" Such a gap in his knowledge was unacceptable.

"If she will not tell you, it is not my story to share." Yet something in the druid's expression said she knew little more (and _still_ wished to conceal even that from him). Of course her obstinance surpassed even her ignorance! Gods, why did _these_ have to be the pieces he must work with?

But force would not serve here; he needed to proceed with care, howsoever long he had already waited. He could be patient. Yes. Edwin took in a deep breath. "It indeed happens I have a task for you. Once it is done, we should be quit of this ordeal altogether." At least this stage of it.

" 'We?' "

Mae'Var's spies could not hear them out here, but were assuredly still watching; the conversation ought be concluded quickly; Edwin slashed the air with his hand. "I am not going to discuss this right now. You will do as I say, and our business will be done."

Sajantha stirred at that, gaze meeting his for the briefest of seconds. "What would you have us do?"

" 'Tis a simple task, one not necessarily involving any bloodshed at all." This should placate her, but she did not react to his generosity. "A merchant is in possession of some papers I require." Yes, that should cover it.

"You're going to betray Mae'Var." Sajantha searched his eyes for confirmation, as if she'd not believe his lips.

"You judge me?" How was it betrayal, if the assignment had only been taken to end the man's operations in the first place? "Are you not here to do the same?"

"No. I mean, I'm not judging you. How'd you manage to stand it so long?" And that sounded a judgment, but her gaze was soft as her voice.

"I endured the company of you louts twice as long, did I not?"

"Before you left us."

"I tell you, I had other concerns!" It was never to be a permanent split; he could not be blamed for this far-too-lengthy side-trip of hers to who-knew-where in the Realms!

Bah. This conversation was best not held in front of an audience; the presence of the others was an irritation crawling over his skin as they watched. And who was this new addition, this Kozakuran with the shifty eyes? One of Bloodscalp's personal spies? Edwin's glyph tingled as it had every minute he'd spent in the guildhall, stepping around its inhabitants with the same suspicion as they did around he.

"Now is not the time for this. I did what needed doing, and so too will you: retrieve for me these documents, and this will be finished." Simply enough done with a summoned servant for the task, but an excuse had been necessary to extricate them from Mae'Var's dungeon, and they may as well make themselves useful.

Sajantha watched him with an unfamiliar depth darkening her gaze, her lips pinched together. Had learning of her heritage so damaged her?

Far too many questions here, and no answers to be surrendered for the demanding of them; she held them far too close.

* * *

=S=

Collecting documents: such a small task he'd sent them on, so swift, so bloodless. But the ease of it didn't endear any of the others; Jaheira could not loosen her clenched jaw, and Minsc's frown looked just as tight.

"The wizard will pay for his words with blood." Minsc's brow had knotted up, crinkling the tattoo across his scalp. "One day, he will." He cuddled Boo close up against his chest, a reassuring gentleness at odds with his dark expression.

But him killing Edwin wouldn't bring Dynaheir back. Killing never brought anyone back.

Sajantha reached out to Yoshimo, still holding the documents he'd swiped off the merchant Edwin had pointed them towards. "I'll just take the papers up by myself. Okay?" Less chance for them to jump down each others' throats. And if they were truly being watched… (a metal grating carved the floor, a tinny echo _drip drip drip)_

But no one looked convinced, their expressions not loosening at all.

Sajantha frowned back at them. "I can take care of it; it's only two flights of stairs! I'm not _that_ incompetent."

"Two flights of stairs in enemy territory." Fortunately Jaheira said this quietly enough so as not to alert those very same enemies; the lounge area was again full of enough noise to disguise them. But this wasn't the place for conversation.

"Just let me do this, alright? I'm the only one of us I can trust not to fight with him." Not to give them away. How things had reversed, hm? Well… at least so long as Edwin kept playing, she could, too. The problems would come when they _stopped._

 _I must know,_ he'd said, as if there were words to extract, words that wouldn't rip out her insides with them.

She tried to stand straighter, to not clench her fingers into fists. She could do this, aye.

Jaheira glanced at Yoshimo as if daring him, an unspoken urge for him to assert himself—for he could play along better than they, couldn't he?—but the Kozakuran's gaze stayed fixed upon the game of dart-throwing as if quite captivated.

"We do not trust that one any farther than we can throw him! Ah," Minsc hesitated, "than _Boo_ can throw him! He says Minsc could throw the wizard quite far."

"But we don't _want_ to throw him, Minsc! We just need to talk to him. And I will. They're going to wonder why we're all just standing here." Who knew where the rogues' attention really was; this place had the same baited-breath feeling as the other day, like any moment…

A dart thunked into the target across the room, and Minsc clapped Sajantha's shoulder. "Stay careful. From Boo _and_ Minsc."

Jaheira's arms were folded tight. "We will be outside."

Perhaps the sun might lighten their mood. Sajantha climbed the stairs, only to pause upon the second floor—how had she missed it, before?—'twas the strangest sight: door after door lined the large room, of all styles and colors, like each belonged to a separate house, a separate world. The step seemed to sway beneath her; she gripped the banister. Another world, what if each of them entered another place, another _plane_ (one where her father still lived, where Imoen was by her side)—

"Excuse me," a voice said in a throaty purr.

"Excuse _me."_ Sajantha turned her attention back to the staircase, and to the woman who had for some reason placed herself in the way; the stairs were too narrow to squeeze past her. "I'm meeting with Edwin."

The woman let out a rich laugh, fairly dripping with condescension. "I am _sure_ you are not."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? Sajantha drew her chin up. "I've a delivery."

"I don't believe he'll enjoy you wasting his time." She looked down to the papers in Sajantha's hands only then. "Let me see that and ensure it's worth disturbing him." The thief's searching gaze weaseled out like a physical thing, and Sajantha clutched the papers against her chest. The insignia stamped across the top—a crescent moon and dagger—meant naught to her, but to anyone else…?

"Edwin didn't say anything about having an assistant. I'm supposed to give these to him." He wouldn't trust anyone here, so she oughtn't either.

And that caused the woman's red-painted lips to curl back in something between a sneer and a snarl. "You are _on loan,_ little girl _. This_ guild has certain—"

"That is enough, Anishai." A stern silhouette, Edwin stood at the top of the stairs.

"Hmph. Taking an interest in street waifs now, are you? I'll be sure to tell Mae'Var he's not paying you _nearly_ enough."

"And I will be sure to tell him you've once again overstepped the bounds of your position, leaving me with no choice but to resort to other measures when verbal warnings failed to suffice. That is _all,_ I said."

Silenced, if not wholly cowed, Anishai took a step to the side, but her glare burned into Sajantha's back as she walked past her up the stairs.

Once inside the room, Edwin closed the door, then glanced down at her and pursed his lips as if trying to hold in a sigh.

What was he looking at her like that for? Sajantha thrust out the papers, giving his gaze something else to focus on. "Just what was that about?"

"Ah." He paged through the documents with far more attention upon them than his answer. "Lin had kept her on the higher payrolls (for what purposes I can only guess), and she has not yet accepted her newly disposable status nor given up attempts to make herself 'useful' to me." His earrings glimmered as he shook his head. "(As if mixing business and pleasure was nothing short of insanity.)"

Oh. _Oh._ Sajantha's face heated. "Um. Lin…?"

Edwin continued to scan the pages. "You do not recall him from the basement? You spent enough time staring at him."

The… the man on the table. Shadows crawled through her mind a chill creeping up her back— _no._ Sajantha shook her head. But Edwin hadn't said anything more, hadn't offered any new instruction, hadn't even taken his gaze from the papers, as if he'd already forgotten she was there.

Sajantha cleared her throat. "That's… is that it, then?"

"It is done."

 _Done._ But… all of it? Would he invite himself along again? _I will be accompanying you when you depart._ Would he say anything?

He at last spared a glance for her, with an eyebrow lifted in question. "Yes, Sajantha?" His accent rolled over the syllables of her name with a resonance that captured her focus, caught it up and left it hanging with the sound in the air. "What is it?"

She touched her neck. No ring hanging there to offer comfort, no chain to grip. Nothing. Nothing but the bumped ridge leading down the center of her chest. "Nothing," she whispered.

Edwin rolled the papers up, securing them with a tight band. "All you need should be in here."

"All I...?" She stared at the cloak swept over his shoulder, at the gold embroidery threaded through crimson. Just what did she need?

"Is your memory so fragile that I must do the work of your brain, as well? I will not spell it out." A pause, and he turned fully towards her, the documents outstretched. "Take these and go."

The proof—it must be the proof they'd come for. And he was just surrendering it? "That's it?" Her hand shook as she took the papers. "Just like that."

He scanned the room behind her before letting out a sigh. "I will not spell it out," he repeated. "Will further insults to your intelligence not smooth the path to understanding?"

"What am I supposed to understand?" She stuffed the rolled documents into her pocket, biting down hard onto her lip. This was it, then: all of it? "That you can turn your back on us as easily as you're turning on Mae'Var?" She wasn't worth another thought, was she, not now and not the last time—

Red flashed. Edwin—not where he had been standing—

A force struck her into backing up a step; she stumbled against the shelf behind her— _book_ shelf—books tumbled to the floor with her, over her, battering harder than the gravity that struck her to the floor.

Flames crackled as Edwin whirled.

A welt stung across her back, bruises already ached across her neck and side, but whatever had pierced through her shoulder only left her arm numb. A… a bolt. Several inches of it protruded from a mess of cloth slowly growing red.

Someone had shot her. Someone had _shot her?_ She lifted bloody fingers—but could not lift them far—this knot in her muscles ought to have been tight with pain, but the tingling ringing down through her arm left her with little feeling, and less control; she dragged her shawl out of the way just enough for its weight to finish pulling it free, almost enough to pull her down after it. She couldn't blink away the dizzy blur. _Red._ Couldn't even straighten back up—

"Gods!" Edwin looked up from the burned body of her attacker with such a glare upon his face she might have flinched back, if there were any way to move, anywhere to go. "You must always–!" His gaze had locked upon her shoulder.

With the shawl fallen out of the way and the neck of her dress drawn down, the bolt-wound wasn't the only injury she'd revealed. His sudden silence struck harder than his eyes had.

Her lungs squeezed—or her heart—all the parts mixed together, now (put together wrong) and all clenched tight; she couldn't breathe.

He took a half-step towards her. "Who did this?" The growl of his voice grazed up her spine.

She closed her eyes and hunched forward, half-intentionally, half-falling. _Don't think about it—don't think about it—don't think about him._

" _Who did this!"_

A drawer scraped—yanked open—and just as loudly shut.

"Raviwr!" Far too much force to his call, but she couldn't reach enough to cover her ears (too much, too much everything)—

Too much quiet.

She opened her eyes: Edwin had crouched down, holding a bundle of blue-gray clothing outstretched as though in offering.

What? What was he…? She froze, blood sluggish; not enough to slow the bleeding: it had seeped through her dress.

"For bandages, girl!" The world picked up speed again as he unceremoniously deposited the fabric atop her lap—and then reached—Sajantha let out a cry and fumbled forward as the tight pressure left her shoulder, a bloom of pain blossoming outward.

Edwin sat back on his heels, holding the red-bladed projectile. He tossed it to the side, flinging the edge of the cloth back towards her. "Are you daft? Hold it _in!"_

The—the bandages. Right. She fumbled at the fabric—a cloak?—but her arm was barely working and her grip certainly wasn't; Edwin let out a hiss of breath and then his hand closed over hers, over the cloak.

" _Raviwr,"_ he repeated, his voice far too loud (far too close to her). His own grip was strong, too strong, all that held her together; was the rest of her disappearing if she couldn't feel anything but the pressure of his hand? Her fingers were gone, her arm was gone, melting; even the room was blurring, darker. All the corners dissolving, a pool that sucked her in. Deeper.

A flap of wings, a rustle, a clink of glass.

"This will stop the bleeding, as well as counteract the paralytic."

 _Cold._ Cold on her lips and then she was choking, an oily coating in her mouth—swallowing, swallowing—it dribbled down her chin, sliding down her shirt (the blade slid down)—

Her hand clenched only then, moving beneath his, as the magic liquid took but a moment to spread through her, a prickling shudder as her nerves re-awoke; she took in a shuddering breath and flexed her fingers. The pressure on her shoulder vanished.

With a pinched look upon his face, Edwin wiped his hands off upon the cloak before he rose and faced away from her. For privacy? Perhaps he could not bear to look upon her blood, either. Reaching into one of his spell pouches, his fingers spelled magic: the crossbowman (the corpse) disintegrated to nothing, though an acrid scent hovered above the scorch mark.

Raviwr gave her shoulder—the non-injured one—a pat.

Edwin spoke without turning around, "I suppose I should be thankful you waited even this long to be discovered, but we have little time left." He walked to the corner of the room, hand raised; his murmur left a symbol glowing upon the wall. "Run and tell Bloodscalp you've the proof. If you are lucky, his orders will be for Mae'Var's end. But blame will not fall upon you if he is no longer around to be brought to justice."

Symbols floated in the air as he paced the room, activating glyphs along the walls.

Her blood pulsed, slow. Heavy. All of her, heavy.

Edwin glanced back. "I cannot complete this with you lingering about. Begone, I said!"

Complete _what?_ "What is it you're doing?"

"Enemies ought not be left waiting: better end this place before he realizes the truth." Another glyph lit up. "Be grateful I had preparations in place for this possibility; we will not wait for him to discover us."

Kill them—was Edwin going to _kill them?_ She pulled herself to her feet—head pounding—and leaned against the bookcase. "There's—but there's people down there!"

"There are people on _all_ the floors; this is why the whole building is to be destroyed at once."

The whole building? The ground already shook beneath her, but 'twas surely just her legs. She gripped a shelf to steady herself. "What about—downstairs?" His name—there was power in a name—" _Lin."_

Edwin's hand paused. "There is not enough left of that one to save."

She pushed off the shelf—pushed towards him—pushed the pain back. "There's other prisoners! He wasn't the only one." A rising surge of heat kept her on her feet. "Edwin—please. Please."

He studied her a very long moment. His fingers no longer tracing them, the runes lost their vibrancy as he lifted his concentration away. "It will get... messy."

She tipped up her chin. "Is that a problem for you? Don't think you can handle it?"

He smiled, and the glyphs all winked out around him.

* * *

=E=

The cloak draped over her shoulder hid most of the injury from view; she stepped down the stairs as if she did not notice it. Noting his unbidden urge for speed, the wound did not appear to slow her: she did not match his pace, but passed it. Afraid he would change his mind?

"Where is the rest of the group?" Not that there were so many members of it now. "Had to come see me alone, did you?"

Only the back of her head was visible. No longer any crazed curls to it, her hair might even have lain flat if she'd bothered to run a brush through it. "I thought it might be best. Jaheira and Minsc aren't so happy with you."

As if he cared what those ingrates thought. "You do not seem especially happy either." No smiles at all.

Her head bowed. "It's easy to blame you. To think, if you'd been there... maybe it would have been different."

The pieces coming together hinted at a far larger puzzle. "Irenicus." This was the name being whispered amongst his contacts, a mage the Cowled Ones had apparently taken into custody just days ago. The one responsible? Responsible for—

She missed a step, knuckles whitening on the banister. "I'm not going to talk about this right now." Her voice wavered, high and tight. "Alright?"

No, 'twas not—and far from it!—what had been done to her? Just who was this man— Edwin's nails bit into his palms as his hands clenched. Not now. This could not be dealt with now. "Alright." Far more immediate concerns pressed, and far too many ears remained around them.

She turned back a moment, her lips stretched a bit as if in gratitude, then continued down the stairs.

The others waited not far outside, the sunset casting a warm light over them. If one focused upon the sea—turning their back upon the docks—the dismal quality of their surroundings lessened not a little; the stink of fish and waste, however, was more difficult to ignore. (Almost done. Almost done with this guild, with this despicable city.)

He spared a glance for the group. "It is time to overthrow Mae'Var: ready yourselves." If such preparation was even possible, perhaps nothing could be improved past their bedraggled appearance.

The Harper did not look especially convinced. Should she not be eager, for how she claimed to despise the man? "You would have us attack the entire guild-house?"

"We're going to rescue his prisoners," Sajantha corrected her, handing the other woman the documents.

"This is the evidence, then." The Harper lowered the papers. "Should we not report to Bloodscalp immediately?"

"This was the mission, yes?" The newcomer raised his eyebrows.

Why were they still discussing this—as if it were up for debate! "You should do as I say, lest you find yourselves feeding the worms in but moments. Have you not the brains to recognize your impending mortality?" Of course they would be so oblivious to the fate growing closer with each passing second, costing them the advantage of surprise.

"Do not threaten us!" The wench came just short of waving her wooden stick at him. "We're not under the pretense of taking your orders any longer; find another to perform your dirty work."

Gods! Why must he be saddled with _Harpers?_ Edwin returned her glare, with interest. " _My_ dirty work? I stoop to lift your own sorry carcasses from the butcher's block, and it is _my_ work? 'Tis not 'my' threat, either: if you are too dim to read the writing on the wall, Mae'Var will know you are against him in but moments. Must I remind you what he does with traitors?"

Sajantha shivered.

Edwin turned to face to the building. "Heal her." Ugh! Were they all so witless as to require this constant management?

"I'm fine—no! It's nothing. Just a scratch. I'm fine."

He looked back; Sajantha glared at them both as she pulled close her cloak. More coverage—and protection—than that loose wrap of hers. The armored enchantment on it would not hurt, either. And yet still such hopelessly pathetic equipment… dear gods! At least last year they'd been halfway approaching respectable; if _this_ had been the crew to stumble into Nashkel, he surely would have allowed the bounty hunter to slay them all without a second thought.

"What happened." The Harper (who had thought it possible?) had managed to deepen her glare. "What did you—"

"He didn't," Sajantha cut in. "It wasn't because of him."

"Boo does not believe you are trying to help us." The simpleton's hairless head wrinkled as he gave Edwin a frown.

"It serves mine own ends as well, if this should ease your suspicion." Must they all be so difficult? "You should be grateful I deign to work with you at all! I could have turned you in at the start. (This is still an option.)" Dangerous, to try to disentangle he and Sajantha from it at this point, but being rid of the rest of them would be its own reward.

"It… it was my fault we were found out," Sajantha said. "I'm sorry. But we should listen to him; he's right: we need to hurry."

All glaring, now, but their silence was acquiescence enough; Edwin paused before the side door. Clean out the first level and thus alert Mae'Var, or begin in the dungeon, and leave his lackeys free to surround the exits? Messy, messy.

"What would you have us do?" Sajantha stepped up to his side.

"Set free the prisoners. Raviwr will find you a key. Keep them in the basement, but away from the battle, if you can."

She gave him a nod. "What about everyone else?"

"They are quite welcome to stay out of my way." He would begin in the dungeon; being present to see the look upon Mae'Var's face would compensate for the added fuss. Less chance of the rat finding a way to scurry free, as well.

"Edwin. They can help."

"Hmph." He looked around at their scowling faces. "How many can you hold off? There are at least a dozen stationed in the upper levels; they will come at you in waves."

"Any casters?" The Kozakuran asked.

'Twould take too long to detail all he knew about each of the ruffians running about the place, but most were inconsequential. "A cleric, but he should be in the basement." More than enough servants of Cyric about: their master's madness was catching. "A lackspell, wearing gray." The dabbler's own spells had proven paltry enough; the idiot was more than a little disappointed that Edwin's headpiece prevented his mind from being read. Not a challenge, even for these monkeys; they had never lacked for _brawn,_ after all.

The Harper eyed him, arms folded. "And you will kill Mae'Var?"

"Oh, yes." His breaths had been numbered since the moment Edwin had arrived. The opportunity to do so personally must not be overlooked; the positive side-effects might very well be worth the trouble. He glanced over at Sajantha.

Her lips moved up in what was perhaps intended to be a smile.

The barbarian's fist met his open palm. "Butts will be kicked liberally."

The druid's smile was as hard as her gaze. "We will hold them."

* * *

=S=

Another fireball whistled overhead as Sajantha struggled with the cell: too difficult to see the lock through the smoke, to reach it with her shaking hands, and the loose ring of keys slipped whenever she closed her eyes against a blast. Gods! How was he casting so fast? A wand?

But there wasn't time to wonder, to look (not even behind her with the wicked wet sounds of speared flesh); Edwin's conjured gnolls stood guard in a barrier around them and the lock was more urgent. Two cells open now, but the third: which key? Which _key?_

Whenever she'd glanced up, Mae'Var's side of the battlefield had shrunk in combatants and inhabitable space—as well as visibility!—noxious waves of gas churned the basement in a thick yellow haze that coated the inside of her throat and burned her eyes, even from the far side of the room.

As if the bolt-wound had bled from her all dexterity, her fingers refused to cooperate, numb where they'd jammed against the metal.

The faces on the other side of the bars stared at her, some horrified, some hopeful, some strangely blank.

 _Come on!_ Her job, her one and only job. _There._ The right key finally slipped into place, and Sajantha waved the prisoners through the cell doors. "You're free!" They took a moment more to move, stumbling on weak legs. "Over here!"

One of the furred humanoids snarled a sentence in its beast-tongue as they moved towards the back, and Raviwr yipped something in reply.

"Sometimes they gets to eat the prisoners," the imp explained. "She just hungry."

The gnoll said something in a growl that ended in a huffing snort, casually spearing a figure that attempted to crawl free of the toxic cloud.

"Says Master is ruining good meat," Raviwr continued translating.

Sajantha shook her head at him. " _Raviwr."_ As if the others weren't frightened enough! Had any heard? She glanced back to the freed prisoners, who were staring at the scene around them with something close to shock.

 _Disbelief._ Freedom, after so long…

"It's over," she whispered.

Electricity spiked through the room, raising the hair all along her neck (down her red-patterned arm), the bolts for a moment lighting through the fog as they sizzled through the last figures.

And Edwin stepped out from behind the gnolls, examining his handiwork with a critical eye that lasted only long enough to confirm the victory. Naught but magic had ever made him grin.

* * *

=E=

Channeling that amount of power would doubtless have repercussions on the morrow, but right now echoes of the energies hummed around him, invisible imprints of the weaves still sparking against his skin; even the breath he took in tasted of magic.

(Perhaps he'd needed not be _quite_ so thorough, but there were ever so many corners the roaches could crawl into.)

Mae'Var lay pinned like a struggling beetle; the spear through his back kept him from doing aught but opening his injuries further, entrails joining the blood-trail smeared behind him. The blue gleam of a healing potion still marked his lips (but had failed to un-mark his body), and certainly had not granted him the strength to break free from the gnoll on the other end of his skewer.

Holding the spear in place, the gnoll's uncustomary demonstration of patience trembled through it, testing Edwin's mental hold against its instincts to finish the job (which would _assuredly_ be pleasant), not that it was so difficult to keep such simple minds in check.

Edwin crouched down. Assuredly a fatal wound, even if the stink of his ruptured bowels hadn't said the same.

No fear, no surprise, but the (former) guild leader stared up with finally an expression livening his shark-eyes: black rage.

"Goodbye, Mae'Var." This time there was no need to feign his smile. Edwin stood, giving the gnoll a nod; it loosed an excited howl as it descended upon the treat.

 _Check._

Edwin turned away from the sound of squelching and snapping as his familiar approached. "Report."

"All dead down here," Raviwr chirped. "All dead but prisoners."

Edwin stepped through the bodies. Ah, yes, the prisoners. Being forced to spare them had prevented the most _efficient_ spell-work from engulfing the room, but a series of chain lightning and a concentrated webbing had served well-enough after the initial explosions. Minimal as he had made them.

" _Sema rahr'w."_ With a mental flex, his command surged through the remaining beasts; they headed upstairs to take care of any Guild survivors.

Edwin headed towards the closest prisoner.

The table Lin was strapped to had for once spared him from violence as spells took out the men around him; the wretch had managed to survive the battle. If one could call his current state thus. Not even aware enough to glare with condemnation, though one of his eyes should still be functioning. Edwin laid a hand upon his neck. " _Frahr dout annyo trekis."_

Silence thickened, air absent of his rattling breaths.

"It's easier from a distance, isn't it?" Sajantha stood surrounded by a ring of prisoners, unsteady on their gaunt legs. Little more than her cloak separated her from the ragged bunch; she stared with the same hollow expression. "When you don't have to look in their eyes."

Edwin straightened, brushing off his sleeves. "It was far too late for him." Disgusting, this mess, it should have been concluded tendays ago. Such a pointless waste of time; 'twas a pity 'efficiency' had never numbered amongst Mae'Var's passions.

"I know." She drew her cloak tighter. Red stained the fabric at her shoulder. "I know not everyone can be saved."

* * *

=S=

The dungeon wasn't any less awful with Mae'Var now numbering among the dead. The grim tables with their metal clamps still stood there, and the sickly stench of death had only thickened, adding to the misery coating the walls. Just because the blood pooled around the bodies on the floor instead of the ones on tables… it wasn't any less awful.

She'd released a handful of prisoners who had clustered by the exit where they sent Edwin wary looks. All but one.

"He won't come out." Sajantha turned back to the frail man cowering in the shadows of one of the open cells. "Sir—it's alright; they're all dead. No one's going to hurt you."

He curled tighter, thin arms barely muffling his sobs.

"Pfeh." Edwin stepped up behind her. "Let him rot in here if he cannot recognize freedom when he sees it."

"No. No-no-no. Don't hurt me." Cringing back, the man hunched up against the corner.

"I have no intention—" Edwin grit his teeth.

Perhaps 'twas his presence, so close? "Edwin. Maybe you'd better give him some room."

Edwin folded his arms, leaning against the cell door.

"I've seen," the prisoner mumbled. "The eyes—the eyes—!"

"Sir. It's alright; I promise." Sajantha moved closer—slowly—one hand outstretched. "He's not going to hurt anyone."

"Not _currently_ ," Edwin amended. His relaxed posture lessened the other man's fright about as well as her glaring lessened Edwin's indifference.

"No," the man whimpered. "Please, no. Can't move. Can't."

A shadow fell over them both as Edwin stepped into the cell—making use of every inch of his tall stature—to lean, voice low, "Remove yourself this instant, you feeble-minded monkey, or I _will_ hurt you."

Letting out a shriek, the man scurried out to join with the other prisoners.

"There." Satisfaction lent a bit of lightness to Edwin's face as he brushed his hands. "One only needs to know the proper motivator."

The cell. Too small, too small with him in it; the space all pressed against her, so heavy for such a small enclosure.

An eyebrow raised as he looked down at her. "I trust I will not need to threaten you with suchlike?"

Her heart pounded. Too close. So close, he stood, pressing away all her thoughts. Her legs wanted to buckle. Needed to. Move—she was supposed to move—that's why he was staring at her like that, waiting for her—

 _(The crack thin it split the cell deep as a gulf she could not cross_ — _)_ No—no crack on the floor. She could cross; she could leave. She could, but she couldn't, her breath locked in like her knees locked in place. And, Edwin… Edwin…

Edwin frowned. What did he see on her face—what had she…?—had she spoken? "Come," he gestured, and her legs remembered how to work again, in fits and starts (past the bodies), and up the stairs, once out the door, she remembered how to breathe again.

* * *

=E=

"We are missing four." (Of the regular rotation, at least; perhaps Kretor's child-army would be relieved their incompetent general had been spared.) The bodies on the upper floor had been quickly counted and catalogued, checked against his books. It had been an ideal time to strike, for the majority of the members were inactive during the day; this setting sun would have called far more away, if any had lived to meet it.

Edwin nudged a body with his boot, and dark hair spilled free of the face. Ah, Anishai. The invasive wench would pester him no more.

"Is this anything that will cause us trouble?"

Edwin glanced up at the Kozakuran. Frightened, or a fool? "Do you imagine Mae'Var was so loved as to be missed?" Beyond laughable. "They are opportunists, not loyalists. All followed him out of fear, and there is no profit in them pursuing us."

Some among the prisoners could object to Edwin's continued survival that gratitude might not eclipse… but they had borne witness to enough to count themselves lucky and move on with the second chance granted them. None were strong enough to summon themselves into any actual threat, besides. Inconsequential, all.

"And once again you have crossed your employers." The Harper's eyes—as always when she looked upon him—were narrowed. "One wonders how you wormed your way into their trust this time."

"You refer to the bandits?" Insolent bitch. "You know nothing of my intentions." As if she could even comprehend them!

"I know that they are for your own personal interest."

What else would they be? "You wish me to act for the 'greater good,' I suppose. Not all of us have such meaningless lives we must pursue the goals of others to be whole." Bah! This would lead nowhere. "This conversation bores me."

Where had Sajantha gone to? For a moment, she had stared… as if she had been afraid of him. Something she had always before lacked the sense to be, treating him (a Red Wizard of _Thay!)_ as any other of the trifling groundlings following her about.

The Harper still scowled at him.

"You so love nature, yes?" He waved a hand in dismissal. "Go find a rock to crawl under and remove yourself from my presence."

"Such a place is more inclined to your own natural habitat, I'm sure. But we are to meet with Bloodscalp, and you will be accompanying us. As taxing as it will be for us both, I would have you present for our report."

"So, you want me back, do you?" A good sign: with luck, the wench might actually keep to her place.

"I want you _present_ for our _report._ " Venom laced her correction.

"You think I am so lacking of purpose that I have naught else to do? I expect to be compensated for my time." An easy enough in. Of course they could not refuse him.

"I will allow you and Sajantha to work that out." And she headed for the exit.

What was that supposed to mean? As if the girl had anything resembling proficiency in bargaining! Yes, this would be easy (however rocky a start).


	6. Negotiations

**[Author's Note]:** _Thank you to Kyn for helping with this chapter! ;3 And thanks again for everyone leaving feedback for me! (Don't hesitate to tell me if there's anything out of place, especially if it's something I can keep from happening repeatedly. ;D)  
_

 _(Kyn has done a lovely illustration of my Edwin~ for, um, tattoo-researching purposes, of course. x3 spydrouge. deviantart dotcom/art/You-Have-Fifteen-Seconds-549055843  
_ _ _Also I have a 'cover' sorta thing of Sajantha - Edwin - Anomen on my deviantART page! artastrophe. deviantart dotcom/art/Truth-or-Tale-II-551665632_ )_

* * *

=E=

The breeze through the Docks carried the rotting stink of fish (better or worse, that he'd not grown used to it by now?), though the respite from the baking sun was welcome; even as it set, the area remained warm past comfort. But any air was better than lingering about that charred deathtrap of Mae'Var's any longer. _Formerly_ of Mae'Var's. Edwin smiled to himself. Not quite the resolution he'd intended, though everything thus far appeared to be in place.

Sajantha had not yet thanked him for forfeiting his perfectly-engineered guild-disposal strategy (not that he'd lacked a contingency plan, of course, but 'twas the principle!), though she'd spoken little enough as they crossed the Docks to submit this report of theirs.

For what reason had she elected to remain behind with the imbecile? The barbarian had none-too-subtly insisted upon the rearguard ( _To keep an eye out,_ he'd said, with both eyes affixed narrowly upon Edwin), as if presuming Edwin's intelligence was so stunted as his own, to strike so obviously.

This left the Harper and this new rogue leading their little march, the first to step beneath the eaves of the clustered buildings marking Bloodscalp's territory.

Wooden platforms haphazardly crossed above and between layered wooden bridges and ladders, together transforming the complex into a veritable maze: plenty of avenues for escape and for stealth, for ranged attacks and ambushes.

According to reports and sketched-out maps, the interior was just as disorienting: it would have taken some grand aid indeed for Mae'Var to mount an attack upon such a place; even the addition of the Night Knives to their rosters might not have managed it. But this was why such wars were waged in the shadows.

The only _visible_ figure was a woman slouched casually inside an alcove. Surely a guard, despite this apparent inattentiveness, for the group headed towards her.

Which entrance was this? Edwin rotated the recollection of the map in his mind, but the details of it had disintegrated when it had become clear any assault upon the place would be unwise.

Not 'til they closed in did the guard's alertness grow visible—as well as the crossbow hidden beneath her cloak—she gave them a nod, though her scrutiny lingered on Edwin. Hm. News of Mae'Var's downfall must have arrived ahead of them. How might this play out?

The Kozakuran had somehow slipped back behind him—Edwin half-reached for his spell pouch before the rogue's intentions grew clear—he was holding the door open for the stragglers. _Pfeh._

As she followed them inside, Sajantha's gaze remained distant, and she'd kept her cloak closed as if even the stale air of the indoors managed to chill her.

Best keep them all in sight. Edwin waited for them to file past him into the main area.

This building had once been a warehouse, and whomever had appropriated it had made no effort to correct this impression: stacks of crates and barrels lined the walls. And— _movement_ —some rogues had positioned themselves up near the rafters. Standard stations, or did they lie in wait? His glyph gave no clear answer, but the group passed beneath the ambush points without incident.

Between whispers of Mae'Var's betrayal and the sporadic vampire attacks, the Guild had been on alert for tendays already. But best assume these current defenses could be related to their presence.

"This way." The druid gestured.

Ugh. Entering a lair of these rogues (that he'd _not_ prepared to destroy) could hardly be considered an ideal investment of time. And to appease the _Harper?_ Edwin glared at the woman's back. Just what leverage might he gain from this? Something, he would extract something.

After several turns throughout the lair (nearly enough to lose track of, though he could always manage a teleport free of here if necessary), they reached the man who this region of the Guild owed allegiance to. Ringed by rows of his roguish brethren, the self-styled 'Bloodscalp' leaned back, lips tight and eyes shrewd as he peaked his fingers together, surveying the group as if they were errant minions deployed with a task they'd summarily failed.

He _had_ heard of Mae'Var, then. (And apparently _no one_ was going to be grateful this evening!)

Pfeh! The crime leader should be appreciative of Edwin's involvement. He should be impressed, if not afraid—any one of a thousand things!—what he should _not_ be, however, was staring at Edwin as if he were another problem that must be delegated away, as if this thieved throne of his somehow elevated him enough to pass judgment, and enough skill to render it done. (As if forgetting more than one side might have spies.)

Oh, let him _try._ Where Edwin had spell-pouches strapped, the Bloodscalp had but blades.

But a brief pain pierced behind his eyes, sending sparks through his vision: it seemed the strong weaves of magic channeled today already demanded repayment in rest; Edwin gave his head a brief shake to clear it, his hands clenching into fists. Bah! Just why had he allowed these short-sighted fools to maneuver him here? What could possibly be gained from this?

The Bloodscalp tilted his head towards Edwin and began without preamble: "You are the one responsible for my guild leader's death? I am surprised to see you show yourself."

 _This_ was how he wished to proceed? For ridding him of the trouble he had been throwing waves of spies at for tendays? As ridiculous as his stupid name! "The traitor, you mean? You knew he was such—and allowed him to flourish in your midst—long though you suspected him! Why should I fear to show myself? _I_ am surprised you are not more thankful someone took the problem off your hands when you clearly could not handle it yourself."

Who would be frightened of the man, with such ineffectual methods as these? Not that Edwin needed to be dodging both the Cowled Wizards _and_ the Thieves' Guild—the two most powerful organizations in the city, for what this was worth—while he was stuck here. But perhaps blood needed be spilt for this to end.

(Would the others be more moved to ally with the thieves, should it come to a fight? Just what had prompted them to enjoin with the Guild in the first place?) 'Twas tempting to turn to gauge their reactions, but removing his attention from the crime lord did not seem especially wise.

"Events… forced our hand." The druid stepped forward. "We found the proof, but had no chance to escape with it." Her gaze paused over Edwin as she handed over the documents.

This was why the Harper wished for Edwin's presence, then, so that the 'blame' for taking initiative might be laid elsewhere. His eyes narrowed. She _dared?_ The next words out of her mouth had best—

"Despite his… flair for the dramatic… the wizard did help us secure the evidence."

Hmph. However begrudging her tone, 'twas a small capitulation; the woman surely had no more love for Bloodscalp than she did Edwin. " _(And_ destroyed Mae'Var before he could secure his deal, let us not forget.)"

"A fitting end for the traitor, yes?" the Kozakuran added.

Edwin crossed his arms. "Is the evidence not to your satisfaction?" There'd been no need to forge it; Mae'Var—so concerned with traitors—was mired in a plot of his own. With no payment forthcoming, the Night Knives would not be adding their strength, order would remain, and no new thieves would begin flowing into the city.

"You were his second, yes?" Bloodscalp ignored them, fingers tapping against his chin. "Mae'Var's guild increased productivity during your time there. Quite dramatically, in fact." He possessed the same disconnect of expression as Mae'Var, unable to wholly hide the calculation in his eyes, but his grin was more convincing, and his voice failed to bring to mind hissing serpents.

"Of course it did." Organization was never one of Mae'Var's strong suits. Ambition and ruthlessness, however: not bad qualities in a leader, but for an underling... the Bloodscalp ought be relieved to be rid of such a man beneath him. Changing his tune, then, was he? Ha!

A smile crept across the guild leader's face, but did not live long there. "It may be we have a position for you."

"You would promote me to his place?" Hn. Of course Bloodscalp could see only the advantages to retaining one of his abilities, but trading Mae'Var for Edwin was an even bigger mistake.

Bloodscalp waved a hand. "Temporarily, of course." Not so entirely stupid. "To ensure the transition is a smooth one."

A scornful dismissal rose to Edwin's tongue, bit back with the force of Raviwr's claws into his shoulder as the imp settled in. _Fine._ If this business could be concluded with a carefully-worded reply, all the better; throwing the offer back into Bloodscalp's face (howsoever tempting) could very well lead to more delays.

"I disposed of your trash, and I've no desire to linger about in it." Any day not returning to a squalid stink-heap of rogues would be an improvement. "I find working with Mae'Var has quite soured my disposition towards your… industry. (And he is sorely mistaken if he believes I wish to be tethered to this tyrannical wasteland of magic.)"

"You are certain?" Bloodscalp's smile turned sly. "Your troubles with the Cowled Wizards would be at an end. We've influence on the Council, you know."

 _Troubles…?_ This had earned the stares of the rest of the group. " _I_ am not the sort to foist any troubles upon others; I'll handle them myself." As if aught they offered could compare! The Guild had been a means to an end, and the end had been reached; just what would his contact think, to find him still involved with these fools? Best secure answers from there first: Nevaziah awaited.

The guild leader smirked. "I should not think you to be so hasty, given your company; we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future. If you do not wish to accept, though, I'll not press you."

"You really shouldn't." Done, then: good, very good. (Though what did this mean, 'his company?' Why, just how deeply had they tangled with the Guild? They'd best not be stuck in this city overlong; he nearly had all he needed from here.)

Edwin glanced back at Sajantha. She stood tucked against the Rashemi's side, and stared only at the floor. Gods! Could she not pay the slightest bit of attention? The moment of uncertainty had perhaps passed, but this was no reason to let down one's guard, even if the tension in the room had cleared as quickly as if someone had opened a window to air it free.

Bloodscalp (finally!) turned his focus upon the others. "None of you are to be punished for your action; I would have called for Mae'Var's execution, yes, but you acted without my express command. I cannot... reward... such behavior, proactive as it might have been. However, you did bring the evidence to my attention as I requested, and that is worth something to me." He spread his hands. "I am not an unjust man. I will offer you a fifth of the price. And this blade should nearly make up the difference."

* * *

The shadows had lengthened by the time they returned outside, but a shade before full dark. As inconvenient (if not unexpected) as Sajantha's slip had been, all had worked out, and fewer days in the guild ought be celebrated. So close, now!

"Boo wonders how much a guild leader makes. Enough to fill a house with doors that go nowhere?"

"Those were to practice one's lock-picking on," the Kozakuran explained.

What relevance was this? "Wonder all you like: even if I'd accepted, you'd still not know; my finances are none of your concern."

"If we had but waited for permission first?" The druid shook her head. " _Ten-thousand_ gold."

"This is how little your life is worth? Do you so lack comprehension of how quickly Mae'Var would have mobilized against you?" He _awaited o_ pportunities such as this. "You would not have left the docks alive once you had reported!" Surprise granted an upper hand skill could rarely match.

"For five times the gold?" Sajantha glanced back at the building, though the night (and several other equally run-down warehouses) had already claimed it from sight. "I think I would have risked it."

Finally found her voice, had she? "Did you not already dismantle Mae'Var's guildhall thoroughly enough?" They'd left little not nailed down. Since when did such mercenary things concern her? "A little late now. But the past is irrelevant to us moving forward."

"Us." Clearly a question, for the way she searched his eyes.

No, he could not be so transparent as this; for all her naivete blinded her, she sometimes saw far too deeply.

"Where are you staying?" Sajantha continued.

Who knew how long Bloodscalp would allow the hall to remain empty? "I do not expect I am welcome there any longer."

"Oh, right. We, um. We're at the Copper Coronet."

As if he did not already know this. As if he would not have guessed: "Yes, you insist upon the most unsuitable of lodgings, don't you." _This_ had not changed. "Why do you imagine I care?"

"Well." She glanced down at their feet. "You're still walking with us."

His feet came to a stop.

"Would you like to come along? You're welcome to." 'Welcome!' She exaggerated the word most profoundly; one did not need to look at the others to know she did not speak for them.

"To the Coronet? Little reason to concern myself with such a rat-hole as that. I've business to settle elsewhere, as it happens." Dealing with the Guild had been a bit more urgent (not that his acquiescence there appeared to have granted him any favors); at least his next stop would have a reward in wait.

Sajantha's steps slowed as she looked back; the rest had paused on the other side of her, waiting none-too-patiently. "You'll know where to find us, I suppose."

"He's no reason to involve himself further, I'm sure." The druid folded her arms. "I expect this is the last we'll see of you?"

"You are most welcome for the assistance. I'm sure." Ungrateful wench. A pity Mae'Var's minions had not managed to overcome her.

"Oh," she replied, voice high and snide, "did I forget to thank you for costing us several-thousand gold?"

 _Costing_ them? "You'd have accomplished nothing without me! Next time I will allow them to slay you all. No doubt there are lines of opportunists eagerly awaiting the chance." Indeed, if even half so many as last year would be hunting Sajantha, a far stronger guard ought be placed upon her; further setbacks could not be risked.

"Thank you for your help," Sajantha said. "And… thanks for staying long enough to say goodbye, this time."

"I've not yet said goodbye."

'Twas unfortunate he could not simply teleport away (damn the Cowled Fools!); without the buffer of the Thieves' Guild, they'd not keep looking the other way.

But mundane exits were not nearly so effective, and the walk across town took far too long.

* * *

=S=

As late as they took it, their eveningfeast ended up overlapping with the night's drinking crowd: the Coronet was already packed, and its unpleasantness intensified for every table-full of drunkards; the loud jeering ones and the sullen staring ones competed as to which was the worse to walk past.

They'd gathered—finally!—their first coinage worth speaking of, so why could she summon no shade of excitement, of satisfaction? Sajantha's fork stirred swirls through her meal.

Minsc let out a happy sigh as he reclined back in his chair. "Boo is very pleased the nasty wizard is gone. So much work to keep Minsc quiet, he says! Now he can take a little nap."

 _Gone._ Rubbing her forehead did little to alleviate the tension (the pressure inside her skull begging to burst free).

"Do you have any extra bread?" Minsc peered hopefully at Sajantha's plate. "It is all Boo wishes to eat, and I do not want him to go hungry, after all the energy he spent today."

"Oh. Sure, aye. Whatever you want." She held out her plate: potatoes and limp vegetables bland but for the gravy drenched across them, and the biscuit appeared to have escaped the worst of the soaking.

Jaheira frowned. "Minsc—"

"He can have mine." And Yoshimo's biscuit ended up upon Minsc's plate, right beside Boo and his twitching whiskers.

Lips pressed together, Sajantha stared down at her food, as if it might suddenly become appetizing enough to seize her interest. They'd all be watching to see whether she ate it or not, now, and _that_ only left her stomach clenched up even more.

 _Gone._

"Two-thousand is no small sum." Jaheira's voice cut through the fog muffling her head. "And the blade may sell for more, though we must wait for the morrow to have it appraised."

No, it _was_ small. When _ten-_ thousand—half their goal!—had been on the table. Sajantha peeled apart a green pod, letting the peas inside it dribble out across her plate. At this rate, 'twould take over a month to reach twenty-thousand, and that assumed they could find anyone with decent means to pay them. Gods! How was this even going to work? And how many days (tendays) would it take? (How many did Imoen have left?)

"You are not paying attention." The sound of ceramic sliding: Jaheira must have pushed aside her plate. "You… you should get to bed."

As if Jaheira wasn't planning to? Sajantha looked up. "What are you going to do?" The stores had all closed for the night, and they hardly had anything else scheduled, not with their mission from Bloodscalp concluded; the road to Imoen faded out of focus as the clearest steps collapsed. What came next?

"The bartender may know the local gossip, if there are any leads we might pursue." Jaheira stood, crossing the room to find out.

Across the table from Sajantha, Yoshimo set down his mug. "The bartender," he repeated, a dry note to his voice. "I had worried a moment our friend might try to extract gossip from the locals herself."

His light ribbing of the druid was surely an attempt to get Sajantha to smile, but Jaheira's lack of social skills didn't seem especially amusing just then. Without anyone (Khalid) to soften all her hard edges, everything about the woman just seemed sharper. And her trying to work past it (past him), trying so hard (alone) without him (dead dead split and spilt across the floor)—

Words _(words are nothing!)_ : Yoshimo was saying words.

Sajantha lifted her gaze back to him, only he had the same almost-pitying look as Jaheira had worn; she looked away. Attention. Pay attention.

Yoshimo seemed to ponder a moment before settling upon a new subject. "This Edwin seems a very… competent caster. Or at least as if he thinks he is."

Sajantha glanced up from poking at her food. "I suppose you've not yet seen him work. He does come by his confidence honestly." The battle had been over so quickly! Spending most of his time preparing spells out of sight, he'd barely left her time enough to unlock the cells.

"A very suspicious fellow, isn't he?" Yoshimo rubbed the back of his neck.

"You don't have to like him. I know Jaheira and Minsc don't. He certainly doesn't make it easy." 'Twas not as if 'tact' was something they taught—or even valued—in Thay; indeed, one could be surprised if Edwin knew the word at all.

"I have no opinion on the matter. Just trying to get a feel for him." Yoshimo cocked his head. "You seem to get along with him well-enough."

"I haven't the same judgments to color my feelings. Both of them belong to groups that come with quite a bit of animosity towards Thay." Not that Thay was the sort to be friendly with _any_ one.

"Ah. I meant he seems to measure his words a bit differently to you than the others."

"He—he does? I mean, if he did, it would only be because the others aren't trying to get along with him. They're sort of natural enemies, I'm afraid." Her gaze drifted to Minsc, but he was busy crumbling the biscuit into Boo-sized bits. "But so long as you respect him, he shouldn't give you any trouble." Not as much, anyway.

"Why are you giving me this advice? You expect we will be encountering him again?"

Might they? Knees together, she pressed her feet into the floor. "I don't know."

 _I've not yet said goodbye._

Yoshimo—was he smiling? "You sound as if you wish to have him join us."

"I… I've never met a spellcaster so strong as he." Well. Not before Irenicus.

"I see." Indeed, Yoshimo's eyes said he'd heard all she'd not spoken. "More than the circus elf, eh?"

"You saw her. She wasn't meant for this sort of life." Her sweet smile, her shy voice… how long would that last? "All the fighting, and killing…"

"It changes people."

"Aye. I suppose it does." Sajantha cleared her throat. "How long have you been an adventurer?"

"Ah, the bug bit me early on; my village was far too small to hold me. I perfected my trade upon each island of Kozakura!" His voice lowered to a confiding tone: "Alas, I was not so skilled in those younger days, and it could be there are some places I may never return to." His grin returned as his voice returned in volume. "Tales of adventure in the uncivilized Western realms called! I have been traveling the world for a good fifteen years." He tilted his head. "You?"

"I suppose as it's been a year now." A year since she'd fled Candlekeep, since her father had screamed at her to run, staying behind so that she might escape. "An accident I fell into, really."

"Only a year? And what of these tales of the 'heroes of Baldur's Gate' I've heard? Can they really be about such a fresh novice?"

 _We can be heroes,_ Imoen said, _just like in the tales._

Sajantha picked at her sleeves. "I used to… I wasn't always so useless. I mean, before." But she had still run, still left her father to die. Even if she had killed his killer. _I am not afraid of death. Are you?_ Her hand clenched (no dagger in it now), began to shake—Yoshimo stared at her—

"I—I'd better go." She pushed off the chair—but couldn't quite—the pain from her shoulder buckled her arm, left her near-sprawled before her legs kicked in; she fumbled back to her feet.

The clanging of the chair against the stone-tiled floor had caught more than a few ears (eyes), including Jaheira's as she hurried back to the table. "Sajantha. How badly were you injured?"

She clutched at her cloak, still damp. "Not very. I—I don't need healing." No. No reason to allow the magic to crawl over her, knit her skin, stretch it tight; her stomach churned protest, every nerve on edge.

Jaheira's lips thinned. "Come upstairs. Let me have a look at it."

* * *

The bed's linen sheets scratched against the back of Sajantha's legs as Jaheira bent before her, braids tumbling down her shoulder as she worked. Sajantha stared at her chin, at the firm line of her jaw. Strong, firm. Unsmiling. Not that she had smiled much, before… but for when she looked at Khalid…

Slowly, his smile would spread, shy and self-conscious 'til it reached up to crinkle at his eyes and he couldn't hold it back. And who knew a smile could be such a grand thing to be entrusted with? As inspiring as the rest of him, his quiet strength, a beautiful sight. _(Do you see?)_

How could she smile, now? Khalid couldn't smile, either. Not ever again.

Jaheira pressed, sealing the edges of the bandage, blood on her fingers.

(Blood. Khalid. Blood bathed everything, everywhere.) _Do you see?_ (Torn inside-out, his body spread across the dungeon walls.)

Sajantha held the dress against her breast as Jaheira worked around it; the bolt-wound was well on display, even redder and louder than the line down her chest. Which Jaheira wasn't looking at. Or speaking about. Why wouldn't she say _anything?_ So quiet that Sajantha's breaths were the loudest thing, growing heavier, faster— _don't cry, don't cry_. She bit down on her lip.

The sharp scent of the druid's cleansing concoction burned her nose as Jaheira dabbed it in.

It was hard to keep from swaying; Sajantha tried to keep her back straight. _I'm sorry_. Some words to share, but nowhere near strong enough.

Jaheira's lips were sewn tight together. _No words,_ she'd wailed, falling to her knees, _no words._

So Sajantha said nothing. She did not speak as her wound was painted with other smelly ointments, as the bandages were wound tightly 'round it, as Jaheira leaned back to examine her handiwork.

Khalid was gone. Imoen was gone. _Gone._ A gulf—an abyss—digging so wide and deep and dark (carved through the center of her chest) there was no room for anything else. She clutched her dress tighter against her. "How…" Her voice cracked. "How are we supposed to…" Without them? So dark. Everything so dark.

Jaheira stood with an abruptness that unfolded her body to snap it upright, shoving the excess bandages back into her pack with little ceremony. Her back was stiff with a straightness her stave would envy; her back was all Sajantha could see of her.

"Revenge," she said. "If that is all that is left to me... I will have it." The same cold certainty that Irenicus spoke with leveled Jaheira's voice, a voice flat enough that upon it could rest a warning, unspoken: _do not stand in my way._

Sajantha said nothing more as the other woman gathered her supplies and left the room. What was there to say?

 _Words are nothing._ The door shut behind her: a punctuation mark, just as final.

Revenge _._ Could that be a thing to live for?

To die for?

* * *

Something fumbled at her door.

Sheets thrust aside, Sajantha sat upright, heart hammering; the darkness gave nothing away.

Another noise: scratches—but some pattern to them—knocks…?

"Who… who is it?" Mouth dry, she reached for her dagger.

"Me-me-me, it is me." No one else had—or could mimic—Raviwr's silly sing-song voice. And she'd told him not to teleport in.

Sajantha let out a breath and opened the door; the imp hovered at eye-level. "What is it?" Not so very many reasons for Edwin's familiar to appear, were there? "Is Edwin… is he here?" The Coronet. The place he'd said did not concern him. So what might concern him, now?

"Yes, yes. Master is waiting for S'antha, he is."

 _Here._ But why? Why now, when he'd had no time for her earlier?

 _The past is irrelevant to us moving forward._

Gods! Like he expected her to forget everything and just—what? Allow him to join with them, right after he'd just walked away again? But—did he want to stay? _Would he?_

She stepped back, spine bumping against the knobs of the dresser as she sank down against it.

Raviwr fluttered to the floor beside her. "Is she okay?"

"I'm really dizzy." How—how to prepare herself? She held a hand over her mouth. "What does he want?" Where had he gone? It didn't make sense. But nothing made any sense anymore.

"Raviwr no can say." He didn't know? Or Edwin didn't wish him to reveal it?

"I… I don't feel well. Tell him to come back later." Not that this was something she could ever prepare for, facing him (alone) without the cover of their game. _Maybe after you rest._

Raviwr looked sort of doubtful, then shrugged. "Okaaaaay."

She was still sitting on the floor when a knock rang upon the door. Clear. Decisive. No doubts whom it belonged to.

Edwin stared down at her when she opened the door. "Join me downstairs." His instruction was devoid of a greeting, of any emotion at all; straight-backed and far-too-tall, he waited, expectant if not yet impatient.

 _Do you trust him?_

She folded her arms, leaning against the door frame. At least it could support her without looking too obvious. "Why?"

" 'Why?' Why are you being so stubborn! I wish to speak with you: come sit with me." He half-turned, expecting her to follow him, though when she didn't move, he didn't get frustrated; his frown looked more confused. "You… do not want to talk to me." A foreign concept to him, apparently. "Your injury is bothering you?"

"Lots of things are bothering me."

And his gaze flicked down to her chest for the briefest second, long enough to remind her what he'd glimpsed.

She bit her lip. "Not right now. Later, I said."

His brow lowered, the beginnings of a glare. "You expect me to wait about at your leisure?"

Something heavy settled inside her. "Do whatever you want," she murmured. "You will, anyway." She closed the door, and fell upon the bed, pressing the pillow tightly over her head.

* * *

=E=

What—! What—? "No one treats me like this!" Edwin turned his glare upon Raviwr. The stupid girl! Prepared to refuse his offer without even hearing it? 'Sad?' This was not 'sad.' This was… this was unacceptable!

She would not leave him alone last year! Any moment of silence he'd found for himself and she was inevitably there to pull on his ear. What was this sudden reluctance? Perhaps she truly did feel ill. This could make sense, yes? 'Later.' Not a complete refusal.

He descended the (far too unstable) stairs to the main floor. "I will not wait about on-call like some servant! As if I have nothing better to do!"

"This important." Raviwr flew beside him. "More than other things. _Most_ important. Master has nothing better to do, nope nope nope."

"Shut up." Edwin grimaced. How long would he be expected to wait? An hour? The entire evening? Upfront to the point of embarrassing herself, Sajantha was not the sort to play games; she was not trying to insult him, however it felt.

"I shall check into somewhere actually worthy of my patronage." The only thing this despicable place deserved from him was a fireball. "Alert me if she should leave before my return."

"Edwin!"

Edwin turned. The… Kozakuran. And the Rashemi. (And his hamster.) _Delightful._

"What brings you to these parts?" The rogue had what was surely a forced smile for him, the ranger a scowl.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Edwin muttered, touching the wardstone in his pocket. Polished and portable, discrete enough to carry, the wardstone was handsome payment, indeed—attuned to the Cowled Fools' own magics, 'twould render his own spells as good as invisible—far more reliable than throwing bribes at the organization which could be retracted at their own discretion; they wanted a Red Wizard about even less than he.

At least _one_ thing had gone better than expected tonight: he teleported away.

* * *

Edwin's teleport anchored to the only secure location left to him, the small wooden structure tucked into a corner of the Docks District. At least the astringent cleaning solutions overpowered the stench of fish outside, after all the care taken to cleanse the workshop after its former owner. Yet still some stink of staleness lingered in the worn wood walls, and there remained some stains which could not be removed.

'Workshop,' pfeh, barely worthy of the name! How many months had it been since he'd last set foot in his tower in Eltabbar? But remembering the sparkling marble halls and golden pillars, the delicate engravings upon the archways—such sophisticated aesthetics nothing in this region could hope to compare to!—only made these current surroundings even less palatable; the stink of it burned his nose.

That _this—_ this glorified _shack—_ might be the best that could be done here? But—no. There was no need for more, not for such a temporary arrangement; why settle in as if he intended to grow _comfortable?_

Once it had been clear his stay in this city would stretch into tendays, the ramshackle dwelling served admirably its single purpose for privacy: a quiet place warded against intruders, free of thieves and Cowled Wizards, a workplace equipped with the tools of his trade.

Not that there was aught of especial use for the place yet but as storage for this scattering of books and scrolls and potions, the resources he'd collected thus far to aid his search.

Edwin's hand drifted over the map of the city upon the table, his fingers lingering over the Graveyard District. _Soon._

He took in a breath, allowing the quiet to pass through him. No screeching fishwives here, no hollering hooligans, only silence, secured by the wards; Edwin closed his eyes and leaned back against the metal table, letting out a sigh as he rubbed his forehead.

A long day, and not yet over. The headache pulsing behind his eyes recalled the magic he'd overspent—too much, too fast, without properly preparing—Sajantha's unscheduled appearance had disrupted far more than she realized. Or had cared to! So demanding, that one—

A throb in his head stole all sight in a shuddering burst of white, and for a moment the tall table was all that kept him upright.

A restorative potion for this—there, upon the shelf—trembling glasses clinked together as he removed a small vial, and raised the bitter concoction to his lips. In a few minutes, the pounding in his head would soften and his mind would sharpen. He had dealt with this, and would continue to deal, whatever was thrown in his way.

 _Soon:_ none of this would bother him again. Such limits were the lot of lesser beings, and he'd not be so constrained.

* * *

=S=

The table didn't have clamps (didn't need them), didn't have aught but the rust-colored stains and the shadows beneath her reaching up to hold her still.

A silhouetted figure stood above her, his face (not a face) hidden in darkness. "Are you ready?"

Always the same choice. If she said 'no,' the world would explode in pain. If she said 'yes'…

An outstretched blade glimmered in the mage-light and the word caught in her throat 'til she screamed it out, " _No!"_ And—thrashing—she could move again, could sit up, on the bed that wasn't a table (even if it was stiff and hard), in the room that wasn't a cell (even if it was small and dark).

Breathe. _Breathe._ She could breathe.

No one stood in the room with her, no matter how many times she scanned the corners. _Alone._ But Sajantha's heart didn't stop hammering.

She pressed the heel of her palms against her eyes for a moment. What... what time was it? The candle on the dresser hadn't melted so very far; she'd not rested long. If that counted as 'rest.'

Would Edwin still be here?

Her mouth was so parched she could hardly swallow. A glass of water, she ought to get up, go get one. But... would Edwin be out there?

 _Do whatever you want,_ she'd told him. So, if he were still here... what might that mean?

Sajantha stared down at the (bloody) cloak draped over the washstand, and reached for her shawl instead.

* * *

=E=

Had the crowd in the Coronet changed much this last hour? Edwin scanned the sea of dirty faces as he stepped into the humid common room (even the air was sticky!), and held his breath through a cloud of pipe-smoke. None of the simpletons sprawled about looked familiar, a good sign. But for Sajantha also being absent. Still in her room?

"Raviwr…" But no, perhaps sending the imp would insult her. "Fetch me a drink." That would serve.

Edwin took a seat at a corner table. He should knock upon her door in-person, though if she were not yet ready, this would likely cause further aggravation. Well. The hour was late already; he need not linger about much longer before 'twas clear—

"You're still here." She'd reached the edge of his table and hovered there a moment before taking the seat across him. "I didn't exactly expect to find you here of your own accord." Sajantha tucked back a lock of hair, leaving a pointed ear-tip peeking through. Her thick curls had always kept them hidden before. "Lowering yourself to such surroundings and all."

Edwin pulled in his chair; the wooden legs squeaked against the sticky floor. "My recent travels have altered my perspective somewhat: each grim locale is only grungier than the last. (Anything which makes me look upon Nashkel with fondness is highly suspect.)"

There was a reason none but the most desperate of delinquents populated this place. "I can say with certainty this dungheap is the worst of all you've dragged me to." The owner kept his whores serviceable, at least, which was more than could be said of the freelance sort flitting about. _Staying_ the night was another matter entirely.

A mug appeared, and a clear glass beside it; Sajantha nodded at the imp. "Thank you, Raviwr." She pulled the glass towards her. "I've not dragged you now." Her eyes drifted about the room as if reluctant to rest upon Edwin, but they collided a moment with his, keen. "You said once that if you were with me, then you would have a reason for it. That I could trust that." She tilted her head. "So," she moved her glass of water so it sat between them, "why should I trust you?"

Was she… she was not suspicious of him, was she? He'd been so close to holding her trust last year! Just how much ground had he lost? Edwin took a sip of his drink—a poor idea, for now he must swallow it along with the urge to spit it out. Ugh! What manner of stale bogwater had the stupid creature found?

A hard swallow left the sour taste on his tongue as Sajantha stared at him with eyes which were surely far darker than before. Wary, for the way she sat: so still, so watchful.

"Do you remember naught of the lessons I left you? Trust is a liability, my dear. But you need not trust me to make use of me."

And though she pulled back as she straightened, her widening eyes were full of something... something almost _hungry._

He smiled. Yes, she'd always been impressed by his magic—and his _control_ of it—which far outmatched her own.

She shifted in her seat, half-turning away from him. "I told Dynaheir that." Her eyes squeezed shut. "She's... she's dead. So is Khalid." Her voice cracked on the Harper's name.

Dead, hm? Of course the witch would not have left her guardian's side unless cleaved from it. Such a distant disinterest rose within him at this information: 'twas a wonder the wench had ever consumed his attention! But her existence had been rendered inconsequential upon discovery of her true purpose, the presence of this half-divine (however little Sajantha looked the part) seated before him. Rashemen would have her not. And Edwin's report to Thay could wait a little longer...

He gave a little shrug. "An attempt to appeal to my 'sentimental side,' is it? We were never friends."

And Sajantha's wariness appeared to be dissolving by the second, replaced with a growing uncertainty, as if aware she had no footing (which ought make her far more malleable).

"What's your reason, then? To be here." She glanced down. "To join me. I—I don't know what to offer you. What reason can I give you?"

"You would gift me a reason? You think I idle about, hoping for handouts? If I want something, _I take it."_ There were more than a few ways of handling this, after all, though surely he was not so unskilled as to need resort to force.

She drew in a jagged breath, hands clasped over her elbows. "There's always some game, some angle with you. I don't know how to bargain."

Yet another point in his favor. "This is not new."

"But I need your help."

"You do, do you." Indeed—rather desperately, in fact—if this current assortment of clowns were her only assets. So the dealing began! He leaned back, peaking his fingers together. "What are you prepared to offer me?"

She did not blink, as if it did not register. As if she'd not heard him: "Imoen's in danger."

No, that _was_ her answer, wasn't it? Even upon their meeting last year at the bandit camp, this most desperate of weaknesses had been clear to take advantage of. And so much more obvious, as time and danger passed: the cries as she'd knelt over her wounded friend. _I don't care about any of it. Just her._

None of that loud pain, now, but something in her gaze was just as raw. "I've nothing to bargain with."

"What if I said you have nothing I want?"

Her head turned away.

"This is you, shorn of show? Where are your pretty words, Sajantha?" She could not have lost so much of her skill; surely she could do better than making him do all the work. "Convince me."

She pressed her lips together, this time holding his gaze. "What can I offer you? Fine. How about a challenge: the man who slew half a dozen Cowled Wizards in as many moments, without batting an eye." Her chin came up. "You've heard of him, haven't you?"

Irenicus. So very little known of the man, though evidently he had been targeted by someone among the Thieves' Guild, the only thing Edwin's own network had dredged of any use. He shrugged. "I know him not. I tell you, I have nothing to prove. Interesting, but you can do better."

"A sprawling laboratory full of magical secrets. Treasures." She took a breath. "Experiments."

"Promising. What else?"

Her hands tightened on the table edge. "That's not enough?"

"What else can you offer me?"

"What—what do you _want?"_

"Ah." He smiled. There it was. "Tell me what this Irenicus wants." To have marked her in such a way bespoke great intention. Just what had been his purpose? With a better look, surely the meaning would be clear… a symbol of some kind? Such angular lines surely had some manner of meaning; what was the bigger picture?

She went still, so frozen a chill may well have fallen between them. "I don't know."

He lowered his hands to push back his chair. "And I don't know that you have anything I want."

"I don't _know_." She leaned forward. "Maybe... if you help, I..."

"I do not deal with 'maybe's.' "

She froze again, but 'twas not with fear she gripped the table, teeth clenched. "Damn you. What are you doing this for!" An undercurrent vibrated the air—a snapping surge where her emotions had once broken free, leaving room for her magic to leak through—though nothing more happened. Might she have learned to control the wild magic unleashed with her temper? "You _want_ to come—I can tell—you already made up your mind. Why do this to me? It's that important to you, to have all the power? You have to make me _beg_ you?"

Silence could prompt more answers than questions ever could. He waited.

"I'm not going to beg you. I won't. You want to know the truth?" Her voice rose, shaking out into a laugh. "I think you should run. I think you should leave, and not look back. Because _we're_ _not going to win_. Not even if we take the entire gods-damned Amnian army with us."

"One does not take an _army_ to fight a mage." Meat-shields were even more useless than usual in such a context. "Magic is fought with magic."

"You're not scared at all, are you." She shook her head, leaning back. "But that's because you don't know."

"Then tell me."

It took her a moment to meet his eyes. "You tell _me_ something. Tell me why you left. What was so much more important?"

"You are in no position to make demands of me. We are not talking about this now."

"You're right; we're not talking about anything." Her chair rocked back as she stood. "Perhaps we'd best part ways here. You can go back to pretending you don't know me; you seemed to enjoy that."

She would cast him aside? Edwin surged to his feet, tossing back his cloak. "I do not need to justify my actions to you!" Born of chaos, indeed! When had this negotiation derailed so off-course? He had the upper hand, did he not?

"No? Then pardon me while I don't need to listen to you talk about anything except that."

He grit his teeth. He had pictured this with far more obedience; it should have been simple: "You _need me_."

"I need your _help._ I don't need your acting like a—a rampaging tarrasque, stomping all over people to get your way. You can't keep trampling through everyone and expect them to be okay with it!"

"I am not–!" He bit his tongue, lowering his voice, "I am not some brute who cannot control himself."

"It feels like it. Every time I talk to you? I'm so wrung-out, I forget which way is up." She touched her head, shook it. "Maybe that's me. Maybe that's not your fault." She sank back into her seat, fingers listless on the table. "Maybe it doesn't matter." Her gaze fell to the table a long moment before looking up. "Are you going to walk out?" She squared her shoulders. "Do it. Do it now, if you're going to."

To manipulate someone, one should know what they feared most, what they wanted most, and with Sajantha, the two often seemed the very same thing. At the mercy of this push and pull—such a contradictory force to be caught up in!—but he did not yet have the appropriate leverage to secure his footing. Edwin remained still.

No satisfaction to her when he did not depart, she just looked tired. "Help me get Imoen back. You can have whatever you want."

The—the unfathomable _stupidity!_ "Gods, girl! You..." She had to make this so—so difficult? He shook his head. "I cannot believe you would agree to terms so open-ended." Surely she knew better. "Are you so ignorant? Have you not read enough stories of making deals with djinn, or devils?" There were not so many tales of making deals with Red Wizards, for who needed to be warned against such a thing?

However focused her stare, her voice was soft: "I'm not making a deal with them. I'm making one with you."

Just what was this? "You do not know me so well as you think; cease presuming to!"

"Don't I? Then why didn't you take that deal?" She let out a sigh, and the rest of her energy seemed to depart along with her breath. "I'm too tired to play games. Edwin... please. Help me." She stretched a hand across the table, palm up, between them.

"I thought you were not going to beg?"

Stiff, she drew her hand back. Cracks traced through her blunt fingernails. "I... I don't know what to do. I haven't got anything. There's nothing left. Nothing to lose."

"You haven't a brain in your head, if you believe that is true."

"I..." She took in a shaky breath, eyes dangerously bright. "I can't do this." Her hands came up to support her forehead, sleeves slipping down to reveal bony wrists. "Stay, and help me. Or, please. Just go away."

Her annoying pickpocket friend had once mocked his attempts to intimidate Sajantha. _That's the only ammunition you got?_ _Doesn't work so well on her, does it._

Perhaps there were not so many avenues to deal with this, after all. He waited another moment, his hand upon the back of his chair, then pulled it out to return to his seat.

All the tension sagged out of her. Far more damage would have resulted from arguing with her, but this submission had best not set him back as far; she had no idea all that weighed upon this enterprise.

Edwin leaned back into his seat. The same spot he'd intended to maneuver unto, but without a deal structuring it in place… "(I pictured this going quite differently.)"

Her lips flexed, not quite a smile. "I'm sorry you find it so difficult to deal with me."

" 'Tis the fact you are not even endeavoring to be difficult which makes it so." How could it be so much harder to win when the other party had so little interest in fighting? Were it a battle, the path to engage would be undeniably clear.

"Maybe you should stop treating me like I'm some piece on your game-board." Her lashes lowered. "Or, maybe you had better stay away from me. My bad luck seems contagious."

"Ah, Sajantha." He gave his head a shake. "You will have to try harder than that to scare me off. I do not frighten so easily."

Her eyes lifted, scanning his but a moment before glancing away. With that slight smile almost enough to dimple her cheeks, she for a moment looked familiar as her gaze returned to his. "Thank you for staying."


	7. Investments

=S=

Sajantha descended the stairs into the warm common room. Perhaps someone had washed the windows; the day seemed lighter than any before. Did a cloudless sky await them outside?

"How is your shoulder?"

"Fine." Sajantha smoothed down the blue-gray cloak (the blood had dried to burgundy) as she took a seat beside the others; its comforting weight covered far more than the shawl had. "It's fine." The potion had cured the worst of it, after all, and between that and Jaheira's remedy, the sharp pain of the bolt-wound had softened to a dull ache.

Jaheira scrutinized her. "Well, you do seem better. Finally slept well?"

Had she? The night before was a smudge, a blur—far better than any thus far, if no details pierced her memory—only one thing stood out: "Edwin's coming with us." The words burst free of her, a spark kindling the smallest light. So hard to believe, to let breathe even that little bit of hope: they might actually have a chance.

A light that touched no one else's face: they stared.

"No." Minsc spoke the word as if he didn't understand it, didn't even understand what was going on; so startled as to blank all expression, his face had almost gone slack. "He is—he is the _enemy!_ Boo shakes with such angered dismay—dismayed anger?—which is it, Boo!" Almost frantic as the words fought with him, Minsc shook his head. "I do not… this isn't… _Sajantha,"_ he implored.

Jaheira nodded. "We worked with him when we had no other choice. We have a choice, now."

The rigid lines of the chair pressed hard into Sajantha's back. "We need a spellcaster." It wasn't as if that were debatable. "You said it yourself! Every group needs a witch."

"He is not at all the same." Sadness weighted Minsc's voice into a low murmur. "Boo liked the elf from the circus."

"We're not ruining some poor girl's life just to use her up for her magic! What we have to do... Edwin can handle it." He could handle anything—everything—all that a wide-eyed ingenue could not.

Jaheira's eyes narrowed. "You believe he will help us against Irenicus. At what price does his help come? What manner of deal did you arrange this time?"

"Why does there need to be a deal?" And why did Jaheira need to look at her so?

"There is a deal, whether you know the terms of it or not. Your ignorance could put us all at risk."

Couldn't they see past all this? Gods! Still caught up on their old rivalries. "Why should it matter? He's going to help us. You took Yoshimo on his word!"

"Yoshimo has stood with us; he did not leave us on the eve of battle."

The pain of it twisted in an empty space inside her. "You can't be mad at Edwin for wanting to come back as well as mad at him for leaving." Her own feelings were a tangled knot that did not bear pulling upon.

"He was given a chance already—multiple times!—upon your insistence. Are we not all wiser, this time around?" Jaheira's eyes burned into her, set Sajantha's to blinking. "We have need of a spellcaster, aye, but nothing says it needs be him."

"We'll not find a better one."

Jaheira let out a sharp breath. "You know my feelings in the matter. Evidently it is your decision. You know what you're getting into: the same mistake cannot be made twice. The second time? It is a choice."

Sajantha sank back into the chair. Hardly the battle won, but…

Boo's beady eyes seemed disapproving, his owner's little better. "No one is safe, playing with Wizards. We have a saying, in Rashemen: 'What good can come of alliance with evil?' Dynaheir, she… I know she would not approve of this."

"Well, she's not here— _no one else is here—_ and no one's going to come. We're on our own." And didn't that just take the fight out of them; as their gazes fell away, the anger drained from her, as well.

Even Yoshimo shifted, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Sorry to drag you into all this, Yoshimo."

"You will have no trouble on my account." His grin came back as he shrugged. "I have no problem with him, aside from the one he seems to have with me."

"He is like that with everyone," Jaheira muttered. "One might wonder why he wishes to travel with a group at all."

Why...? Even if it mattered, it _didn't_ , not enough for her to care what his reasons were. He was coming with them: they had a chance. Like the payment for the wand, it could be settled later. One thing at a time. One step at a time.

Yoshimo lifted his head. "Where is the cheery fellow?"

Sajantha glanced around, but the inn was quiet, all muted grays and browns. "He usually isn't awake so very early."

"It's well into midmorn. You slept late."

"Already?" Sajantha rubbed her eyes. "Why didn't you...?"

"We all had a late night." Jaheira exhaled, some of the tension leaving her. "This is the first time you've slept."

Some of the tightness left Sajantha, too; her chest had expanded, filling with warmth. "I think Edwin might have received some gold. For crossing Mae'Var? It could be he'd help us with that, too."

"Hm," was all Jaheira said, but consideration relaxed some lines from her face.

* * *

=E=

The familiar faces he sought unfortunately fit in all too well to their dingy surroundings. What had become of their earlier equipment—all lost in their capture? Embarrassing. This would need to be remedied immediately; never mind the additional weaknesses it afforded them, he could not be expected to be seen with anyone in such a state.

Sajantha's eyes had already fixed upon him by the time he spotted the group—at a table positioned in the far corner—she'd chosen a seat against the wall, facing the door. Very good.

"You are going to help us?" Immediately, the harpy descended to swoop upon him, claws out, determined to shred his good humor. "How much gold can you contribute."

"Excuse me?" Ugh. Far too early in the morning to deal with Harpers.

"You received payment for Mae'Var's demise, did you not?"

He glanced towards Sajantha. Had he mentioned...? No. _Raviwr._ Blasted creature. "I was paid in information."

"No coin at all?"

"I fail to see what gives you any right to the knowledge, never mind the coin." So demanding! Had he truly ever anticipated traveling with them again? As if he could forget how irritating her companions were! Even halved, they proved doubly annoying.

"We'll pay you back, of course," Sajantha was quick to add. "Consider it an investment."

Edwin took a seat at the corner beside her (still with enough view of the entrances), arranging his robes. "I consider _investments_ investments. I consider charity a wasteful enterprise of the foolish."

"You've not yet worn out your tongue calling us fools?" The Harper folded her arms. "And somehow here you are with us again."

"Twenty-thousand." Sajantha leaned forward. "We need to raise twenty-thousand gold."

An extravagant sum. This explained—at least in part—their copper-clenching; merely living in the City of Coin cost a small fortune day-to-day. "And what is this twenty-thousand gold to buy you?"

"An answer."

"You are fortunate indeed that I am here to aid you, especially as you do not seem to realize: there is no earthly question worth such a price. Point me to whomever holds this answer, and I will extract it from them. For a much smaller fee." It seemed efficiency was a commodity in short supply.

"I... do not think these are folk to be trifled with," the rogue said.

This hardly deserved a response, but the lout did not yet know him (and apparently could not extrapolate): "Nor am I."

"We—we don't even know who they are, not for sure."

Were they _trying_ to be difficult? "Then we follow the links in the chain until we reach them. Who among them contacted you?" Just what had these amateurs involved themselves in?

"If we tell you," Sajantha looked up from her hands, "what will you to do to him?"

"There is no need to distress yourself over details." No, this was not something she needed to know. There were not so many players of significance in this city outside the Wizards and the warring guilds; who could possibly… the Thieves' Guild, wasn't it? This would explain Bloodscalp's little remark. Hopefully this would not lead to conflicts…

"This group is our only lead," the druid said. "We cannot afford to make enemies of the only ones who would help us."

"As such, you should take better care how you treat _me_ , hm?" Simpletons. Edwin shook his head. "You cannot afford their _price_ , either. You tell me your friend is in danger; I imagine there is an expiration date set upon her: how much time does she have remaining?"

"He's not going to kill her. Not yet." Sajantha stared at the table. "He wants us to come after him."

Far more to this, all being left unsaid. "I will not continue to operate in ignorance. If I agree to return your friend, you will share with me all you know." His glare traveled over them, in turn, only to reach an empty chair: Sajantha had risen, hovering at the edge of the table.

"They can tell you what you need," she said, and headed towards the back stairs. Oh, yes, because _they_ would be the ones he wished to talk to—who wished to talk to him.

Edwin smothered a sigh.

"She has decided you will join us, but the decision is hardly unanimous."

As if this came as a surprise. Edwin turned his attention back to the table; Sajantha had sped already out of sight. "I do not see the problem. We have two votes against two. (The rogue does not count.)"

"I have no judgment either way." He smiled, a 'yet' surely in his undertone.

" _Yours_ is the vote that does not count, Wizard. You left your right to it when you left us behind!"

"As if you did not rejoice the moment you thought yourselves free of me! You are only upset that your weak skills could not hold the line in my absence."

The druid's eyes narrowed into slits. "And what _fortunate_ timing for you to absent yourself. Just what did you have to do with this—what do you know of our capture?" On her feet, now, face red, "Khalid is dead, and I will have an answer!"

"From whence comes this vitriol? If your husband managed to get himself killed, I had no part in it." That one, at least, had made an effort (dismal as it was) to be tolerable, more than could be said for the rest of the simians. The witch's death was far more fortuitous; 'twas a relief her suspicions would no longer hinder him, but the Harper could with ease take her place as the thorn in his side.

The barbarian was no less incensed by his own loss. "You tried to kill dear Dynaheir—do not deny it!"

No, Edwin had _considered_ killing her—a completely different thing—if he had _tried_ to kill her, he would have fed her to the worms long ago. "Dynaheir survived far longer than any had a right to expect with such an incompetent guardian. You would blame me for your failures? Look first to your own selves! I had no part in this."

"No, you didn't have any part at all, did you." The druid's face was dark.

"Who are you to press judgment upon me? If you cannot set aside your senseless feelings in pursuit of this mission, this enterprise is sure to be stained with your failure, as well. (As it _will_ fail, without my assistance.)" Surely they'd not be so mulish as Sajantha, to dismiss common sense when their emotions ran high. "I offer you my aid. Spurn it, if you will, but if you're not too stubborn to accept it, I will only go forward informed: tell me what this Irenicus has been doing."

The Harper's jaw clenched. "There is surely a space in the hells waiting for you. 'Til then, aye, perhaps we can keep you occupied." Her eyes scanned the room before she retook her seat. "I have no details for you, only guesses. Little of this tale is ours to tell."

"We could hear her, sometimes," the Rashemi murmured. His over-sized hands nearly strangled the ball of fur he dragged around, as if trying to squeeze comfort free of the creature. Voice quiet, eyes cast down: the gravity to his visage said enough.

"Hear her, what?"

The barbarian shared a glance with his companion, large fingers snug around his furry rat. Perhaps it did not need be asked.

* * *

=S=

A prickly shadow straightened her back—Edwin stood in the doorway, tall and wide-cloaked, he filled it. He filled the hall itself without saying a word; tension built, pressing inside her and out, 'til the crowd in the main room behind him faded far away.

Sajantha rose from the bench. "What did they tell you?"

His eyes remained hidden beneath the shadow of his hood—he did not move—surely he was staring at her.

On her feet now, she licked her lips. "What did they _tell_ you?"

"You truly believe you cannot cast magic any longer?"

That couldn't have been all he'd heard. "They don't know." Her hands shook; she locked her fingers together. "They don't know any of it."

He took a step closer. "Then they will remain as ignorant as you wish (and they are _unsurpassingly_ ignorant). I am familiar with secrets. Yours will be safe with me."

"Safe?" Laughter climbed inside her but came out in shaky starts. "There's no such thing."

He paused. "I wish only to understand our common foe; I do not gather this information to use against you."

He could say that, now. He could say it because he didn't know and _none of them knew_ and there weren't even words to fit anything into, anymore; like the days, they all blurred together, but some images stabbed in such sharp relief— _don't look, don't—_

"No." The exit called to her, louder than the expectancy in the air, almost as loud as the pounding in her ears. "I don't remember. I'm not in there anymore—I'm not looking back. I'm not going back there."

She lowered her head—sped past him—his outstretched arm forced her to a sudden stop.

"You will not run away from this."

"What are you going to do?" She glanced at his hand, secure beneath her elbow. "Try to 'extract' answers out of me?"

His grip tightened a moment before releasing her; he took a step back. "Facing the truth need not be so painful."

"What do you know of it."

"Perhaps not so much as I supposed. Here I had thought Sarevok would serve as your catalyst."

Catalyst? Catalyst for _what._ "You did? Thought about me, did you?"

"On occasion." But his face gave nothing away, lent no context to give the words any weight.

"What do you think, now?" She hugged her arms, just tight enough to cling to her composure.

"You are scared. I do not think Bhaal himself would so terrify you, but Irenicus..."

She licked her lips. "Bhaal? He's dead. Why would I be... why would you say that?" What did he know—what did he think he knew?

"Oh, Sajantha," Edwin murmured. "You are sure you wish to play this game?"

"This isn't—it's not a game—" (no no no more games) "this is my _life_. I'm not playing any games. I don't want you to, either." She took in a breath. "Tell me, please. I have to know. Why did you leave?"

* * *

=E=

Still stuck on this subject, hm? Sajantha stared at him with no room on her face for anything but this peculiar seriousness, an intensity unabated even as the seconds dragged on. She would not let this go without an answer, would she?

The druid had shared little in the way of details, but far too much could be inferred. What with that mark upon her…

"A truth for a truth."

She looked away, pinching her lips shut.

"You refuse, without even knowing what it is I will ask? Very well." He turned back towards the stairs.

As expected, her voice followed him: "What were you going to ask."

A hundred questions, any one of which would send her running, scared—or angered—unto silence. He glanced back. "How did you ever manage to tame that ridiculous hair of yours?"

Perhaps she was too surprised to laugh. "I..." Thin strands of it slipped through her fingers. "Why? Are you disappointed you can't make fun of it anymore?"

" _This_ is the question you wish answered?"

She swallowed. "Why did you leave."

"Windows of opportunity must be acted on before they close."

"Business." Her voice was flat.

"Of course. 'Twas nothing personal."

"Of course not. Why would it be? When you left us, right before we faced Sarevok."

"Whom you defeated without my assistance." Curious, indeed, the rumors surrounding the Iron Throne's fall. "You should be proud! Just what is your problem with this?"

"You _disappeared._ You couldn't even say goodbye?"

"I left you the means to contact me, and heard nothing. How was I supposed to have taken this?" More than a little surprising, that.

"You—you wanted me to?" She looked surprised, too, but quickly narrowed her widened eyes. "What the hells did you expect me to _say?_ I used it, aye; I sent a message to someone I _knew_ would help."

"You say I did not help you? What of the scrolls? The spell for your dragon!" His time had not been invested with this to have it so dismissively thrown aside!

"It's gone." And so suddenly did her anger vanish, a thin patina for how quickly it wore through revealing the shine of tears far too near the surface; she held a hand over her face. "He took everything. Miirym... it's all gone." Head bowed, she turned away, revealing only the slight frame of her shoulders, thin even beneath her cloak. "I can't do this. I can't fight with you."

"Who is fighting?" _She_ was the one throwing around accusations! "You've lost the notes? Rewrite them. Your conjectures were but a first step and require much building upon. Unless Irenicus also took your mind, this is not so hopeless as you seem to believe. You dedicate your life to pursue her spell? Such a minor setback ought not deter you."

"Minor," Sajantha's head raised enough to level a disbelieving gaze upon him, " _minor?_ "

"You are still alive." No thanks to the diviner, for how nearly she wasn't. "All else can be worked through." Now he needed only ensure she remained so. "Let us pay a visit to the outfitter's." With that wardrobe barely worthy of the word, gods knew she'd not, yet. "A belt for the sword Bloodscalp gave you, to begin."

She blinked. "We've only just begun collecting money; I'm not about to throw it away so fast! Besides, I can't use a sword; I was going to sell it."

"You are going to wear it." A small-enough blade—little longer than a dagger—designed as it was for clandestine attacks, at least she'd not trip over it. "And, with hope, learn to use it enough to defend yourself." Would her magic still rise to protect her? Operating on a level beyond her consciousness—her control—it would certainly reappear, despite her insistence it had left; such power as hers could not be restrained easily, when her will alone made preparation unnecessary. "Come."

* * *

=S=

Seagulls wheeled overhead, their shrieks not even so loud as the common commotions about the slums: folk shouted from windows at each other, a crier bellowed news, and peddlers proclaimed their discounted wares. Not nearly so many people about as those that populated the Promenade, but their volume made up for it. Sajantha rubbed her ears, squinting up into the sun.

"The outfitter's?" Jaheira gave Edwin a considering look. "Aye, there is much we need in way of gear." She turned to Sajantha, removing a handful of coins from her coin-purse.

"This is it? This is all we're saving for Imoen?"

"No," Jaheira said, "that is what we are saving for food and lodging."

Sajantha's eyes heated. "What about Imoen." No, no, no—she'd not fall back to zero.

"We need to gather supplies, equipment. A bag of holding. With these, we can better gather gold."

"Gathering it won't do any good if we can't hold onto it!" Nothing? They were falling back to _nothing?_

"We must go quickly, and save our little Imoen! The wizard may be leering over her evilly even now!" Minsc's agreement barely buoyed her, for the rest of them did not budge at all.

"The druid is right, my large friend." Yoshimo gave Minsc's shoulder a pat. "Irenicus obviously had great power, and I doubt we have seen the last of him. We must ensure we are as much a match for him as possible. Your friend would wish for our success, no?"

Edwin heaved a sigh. "Have you heard nothing? Simply having me on your side will raise your chances considerably. Your gear is a trivial concern at best."

"You just said we needed new outfitting!" Had he changed his mind?

"Perhaps I was simply referring to your shabby appearance inspiring little awe. If your intent is to overcome your enemies with amusement, that is another matter."

"Ehh." Minsc frowned. "Minsc could always use a bigger sword to better rend through evil! And some heavier armor would not hurt, lest they rend through Minsc."

"Spoken true," said Yoshimo. "Some sturdier armor would not be amiss."

They'd only just begun gathering gold, and so quickly it was to be gone?

"You cannot hope to face a man who significantly overpowers you wearing secondhand clothes from an orphaned street urchin, surely." Cutting enough already, without that little smirk Edwin wore, but 'twas a single word that struck straight through her.

 _Orphaned._

He frowned when she didn't return the jab—did he think her bothered by the insult to her appearance?—or upset over losing the coin? But it was the other things she'd lost, the things that couldn't ever come back.

"Progress always comes with a price," he continued. The first time Edwin had _ever_ in the history of _anything_ agreed with Jaheira, and it had to be taking a side against her? 'Progress.' It slipped like the coins emptied from the pouch, a physical loss.

But protesting further required far more energy than she had, when she'd only enough strength to follow them to the market. As if it could be so easy, that life might be more manageable with a pair of sturdy boots and a blade at her hip.

* * *

So many people (too many) already packed the Promenade. Not quite the hurried throng that would meet the afternoon, but more leisurely shoppers: their collective sound blended into a low murmur, rising and falling, adding to the illusion that their bodies formed a moving sea.

(A sea of bodies a sea of red rising—)

Sajantha shook her head. A dream, that was a _dream,_ back when they'd flooded the mines, back when the worst thing upon her mind was a spiked man she'd named a demon. (Who'd named her 'sister.')

She hurried her steps. Too many people, just like at Bloodscalp's, but here she couldn't hide her gaze in the ground and pretend to be somewhere else, here no Minsc was close enough to steady herself against.

But Edwin was at her back.

Sajantha took in a deep breath.

"So, your wizard joins us, after all." Staying in-step beside her, Yoshimo gave her a smile. Though he could hide so many things behind a smile: how did he really feel about it? Far too amicable—or perhaps indifferent—to challenge her decision, at least he had none of Minsc and Jaheira's antagonism, which left him the closest to being on her side.

Sajantha rubbed her arms before folding them over her chest. Something with sleeves, she needed something with long-enough sleeves to hide the scar that traveled down her shoulder, fanning down to her wrist. "How did it go? After I left. I… I don't suppose as anyone is really happy about this."

Yoshimo shook his head, but his bearing remained good-natured. "Are you not?"

"I… well… it's nice to have a familiar face around." Edwin was strong—so much stronger than her—that was enough of a reason, right? _You need not trust me to make use of me._

Sajantha cleared her throat. "What do you think. With… adventuring parties and everything. They're important, aren't they? Mages. Have you worked with many?"

Yoshimo took a moment to reply, as if the disjointed structure of her query took time to reassemble into sense. "They have their uses, it is true. But I… have not yet met a mage who I would enjoy spending an extended amount of time with."

"Perhaps now's your chance."

Yoshimo's lips flexed up, as if aware just how unlikely this was, only willing to humor her.

At least Jaheira and Minsc hadn't protested Edwin's presence further, though their silence hardly felt accepting so much as… waiting. 'Twas only a matter of time 'til they riled each other up, wasn't it? Accidentally, or purposefully. Boo oft kept Minsc in line, but the hamster apparently cared just as little for Red Wizards.

Edwin walked behind everyone, as he preferred to (as he used to), his attention scanning quickly through the crowd around them with one hand on his belt. Everything about him was so much the same, as if he'd stepped straight out of her memory, all proud arrogance and haughty dignity, red cloak billowing.

His eyes left the shadow of his hood as his head turned—at her, was he looking at her?—she faced forward reflexively, heat tickling at the back of her neck as if to confirm his gaze.

Not _all_ the same, though, for his clothing had changed a bit, traditional mage garb traded for something more suited an adventurer. The black-and-gold boots that had once only peeked out beneath long robes were visible now from the higher cut of his clothes: red garments tailored in layers around his knees revealed black trousers beneath. Not mage-wear, not at first glance, lest one recognized the spell pouches strapped across his chest and belt.

And she oughtn't be wondering just how much his equipment measured into coin, how many thousands the gold he wore was worth, the gems, the enchantments, the wands—

No. _No,_ he'd part with none of it, and she'd not ask him to; him accompanying them would be assistance enough. Yes. It had to be.

* * *

=E=

"I would have your word that you intend her no harm. I will not have you at our back otherwise." Arms folded, the Harper stared ahead into the clothing shop as they waited, not looking at him as she spoke, though surely that rack of hanging sashes did not so deserve her displeasure.

 _Hmph._ Edwin leaned back against a brightly-colored table of tasseled waist-coats. No other customers filled the clothier's, though this could change; he kept his attention upon the door. "You would have me pledge my word? (I thought she did not trust even this.)"

"Sajantha always insisted you kept to your word. Though I think your leaving nearly shocked her senses enough to bring her around."

What! He had never reneged upon their deal, even allowing for the dragon she had belatedly finagled into it. He met the woman's glare with his own. "I kept my end—!"

She gave him a cool look. "Go on and swear you will keep her from harm, then. For if you should break your word, at least we will all know where you stand."

"I will keep her alive through this little gathering quest of yours, you may count upon this." Still he must suffer this narrow-eyed scrutiny! "You do not believe me."

She shook her head slowly. "I do not _trust_ you. But, believe? …Aye. Perhaps I can believe you will wait so long as that. Make no mistake, wizard: while you are with us, you are a tool I will not hesitate to make use of. But this means you must comply. And the first sign you do not…"

"Yes, yes, you lack even the wherewithal to summon aught but undisclosed outlines of threats. (Nothing even in regards to her wooden stick? This lack of creativity is disappointing.) Consider me cowed." Perhaps that would shut her up.

Sajantha emerged from the dressing rooms, cloak folded over her arm. Her new outfit would blend in marginally better with the Amnians: she wore a high-collared blouse in the Calimshan style they were so fond of emulating, an embroidered leather vest, and skirts that fell straight to her knees; the dark leggings beneath them disappeared into her same worn boots. Well. Nearly an admirable effort, for at least she'd no longer be mistaken for a penniless pauper.

A pair of fingerless gloves stretched up over her elbows—far too pointed elbows—she was every bit as scrawny as her formerly baggy clothes had hinted.

"Eat something." His voice made her jump. "Has all your sense departed with your magic?" Really, escorting these buffoons about would be a monumental task. As well as it looked to be lengthy: but the more time-consuming this quest, the better; as things stood now, they would not fare well. At least it should allow for the required time to arrange everything into place…

* * *

=S=

They'd already spent the afternoon exploring the Promenade—Jaheira at least was willing to search out the best bargains (spending time instead of money, which was worse?)—and stopped only to snag highbite from a stall: nearly half a gold, for naught but a bit of filidar! Flat corn-cakes filled with tuna and onions, enough to feed five. Though Minsc ate for two and Edwin didn't at all.

Some filling squeezed out the side as Sajantha took a bite. Her vest was enchanted—or so the shopkeep named it (why couldn't she tell?)—but it clearly didn't protect against food-stains; the mess left a smudge even once she'd wiped it away.

And Edwin had taken just that time to look at her, his gaze no less critical than it had been upon first surveying her equipment; his narrowed eyes still didn't speak an especially favorable opinion. He'd yelled at her to get new gear, to 'eat something,' but it seemed whatever she did, it still wouldn't ever be right. Gods! Somehow just him _looking_ at her left her feeling as discomposed—and as much a child—as whenever Ulraunt had leveled his judgments upon her.

Face hot, she scrubbed again at the greasy leather.

 _You got more luck trying to get Edwin to come around,_ Imoen had said, comparing the two irascible mages. And as unlikely as that seemed, perhaps 'twas true: however much Sajantha might annoy Edwin, he surely didn't have a reason to _hate_ her.

They headed through the stacked stalls, weaving down the incline to their next stop, the Adventurer's Mart. On the main floor, it was a high-traffic destination even if it hadn't boasted the best magical wares around.

A memory of the crowded space filled her head—sharp blades and jostling people (walls pressing in)—and Sajantha's feet stopped moving, refusing to take another step.

Edwin—almost near-enough behind to tread upon her—made a harsh sound of disapproval, loud enough for Jaheira to turn around.

Sajantha stayed frozen in place. She could move. She _could._ The only thing stopping her was this rush of vertigo and how warm the sunlight was outside (and how dark and cold within). Her lips moved: "I'm going to wait outside." Yes. Yes, that made sense, didn't it? No reason for her to go in, anyway.

But Jaheira didn't appear convinced.

"What?" Edwin barely even looked at the druid as he waved her off. "Go do your business, then. (Ugh! Does she require assistance with even the most menial of tasks?)"

And with a last—disapproving—glance between them, Jaheira descended the last set of stairs, disappearing into the Mart with the others. To spend the rest of the reward Bloodscalp had given them. At least there had been plenty of gems and such things hidden about Mae'Var's guild, but it sounded as if they'd be trading those, too, keeping only that single handful of coins for lodging. _Gods._ Sajantha's head dropped into her hands, the glaring sun mercifully vanishing from her vision.

"Still bemoaning the loss of gold, are you?"

"A lot of things." She spoke the words into her fingers—too quiet, too muffled for him to hear?—not that Edwin would care about any of it. _Gold,_ yes. One thing to worry over at a time. She looked up only to find his attention had utterly refocused.

The calculating look Edwin wore underscored the intensity of his face, all hard planes and high cheekbones; with eyes just as sharp, he studied the destruction that had come near to collapsing a whole corner of the Promenade, the remains of the tunnel that led to their 'escape,' where the Cowled Wizards had been butchered (where Imoen had been taken away).

Roped off for re-construction, but the damage was impossible to hide, taking out several of the layered levels.

"Ah, so this must be where…" Edwin trailed off as if only now recalling Sajantha there. Might this actually be tact? Or… no. Just genuine uncertainty, for he knew little enough of what had transpired. And clearly wished to get a closer look.

Sajantha hugged her arms. If the Cowled Wizards had attempted to seal off the area, "Is it warded?"

Edwin's focus returned to the rubble as if relieved to have an excuse to study it; he rubbed at his beard. "Indeed. (Amateurish weaves, if they've taken no care to hide it.)" He glanced back at her. "You can sense none of this?"

"Why would I want to?" How much worse would that be, feeling all that went on below; her skin crawled enough to make her shudder, a glimpse of bodies (pieces) on tables behind her eyes (eyes eyes eyes), filling her head—

She took a step back, reaching out against the stone steps to steady her; the gloves protected her palms from scraping against the rough surface.

The sun disappeared a moment: Edwin had stepped closer, blocked it from view. "Sajantha."

 _Don't don't don't._

Don't run. But it took everything she had to meet his gaze—dark from the depths of his hood—and not turn away. _Look at him._ Look at him, then, not at what lay behind (at what didn't: Imoen).

She curled her hands into fists.

Beside her, he leaned against the side of the staircase, casual but for his searching gaze. "Have you acquired some aversion to magic, then?"

"I don't know." The words tasted dry and bitter.

His eyebrows lowered, as if in preparation of a glare, but his voice remained neutral. "You always enjoyed it before, did you not? 'A part of you,' you called it."

Sajantha stared down into the Promenade's main floor, over the bobbing heads of the passers-by, licking her lips. He remembered that? One of their few conversations when he'd actually sounded interested in what she had to say, actually listened. She glanced up to find his attention still upon her—of course, 'twas not as if Edwin said or did aught without purpose—he _was_ interested, then.

 _Magic._ Almost difficult to recall, so distant was the solace it once offered. But (before), how had it felt, that surge of light and motion rocking through 'til she could not contain it? "A wave, 'twas if I rode a wave—and it filled up all my insides—then a moment so concentrated, so pure, everything connected and it carried me away. I hadn't any control, but I didn't even want to." _Enjoyed_ it? There wasn't hardly a word big enough for something that could leave her feeling so… _complete._

"Hm." Was that a smirk lurking about the corner of his mouth?

"Why?" Why was that so funny? "What about you?"

"Unlike yourself, I am not in the habit of divulging such... intimate details."

'Habit!' "I'm not sure what you mean; I've never spoken of magic much with anyone, save Miirym. And… and you." She shrugged, holding her arms. "So what's casting like for you?" Of course a studied mage would find things far different than a sorcerer. If _that_ hadn't been clear enough already.

Edwin faced forward, tucking his hands behind his sleeves. "Everything is ordered, predictable: a perfect sequence. The inevitable culmination of studied effort given form."

"And you like that? That sounds dreadfully dry."

Beneath his circlet, his brow wrinkled a bit. "What is not to like? Cause and effect. A direct, consistent output from what is invested."

"You've certain command over it, you mean." Of course that was the sort of thing that would appeal to him. "Can you imagine, you with wild magic?" The thought was almost worth a laugh, though Edwin didn't appear to find it at all amusing.

"(As if everyone so lacks willpower and focus as she.) Why do you believe you've lost even the marginal control you had over your own magic?"

"I… I don't know." The almost-amusement inside her deflated as quickly as it had risen. What _did_ she know anymore? Nothing made any sense, not the way her insides were a tumult that could hardly stay locked inside her, not the way Edwin stared at her as if trying to see yet not at all knowing how to look.

His head tilted, his gaze unnervingly remaining locked upon her. "Do you feel that?"

Her heart had begun to pound but surely that wasn't—couldn't be— "What…?"

A frown tugged the edges of Edwin's lips, and he tossed his head with an impatient sort of nod.

Oh! _Raviwr._ The imp appeared in the air between them. "Hi, S'antha."

"Hi, Raviwr." Sajantha matched his quiet voice. She should've… she should've been able to sense him.

Edwin's familiar glanced between her and his master before disappearing again in a swirl of smoke.

Something hung in this silence between them—a silence somehow still poignant even between the shouting vendors and the buzz of the crowds—something almost judgmental. Why did she feel she ought to apologize? It would only draw a scoff or sneer from him, anyway. _Apologies are worthless!_ he'd been sure to tell her when she'd made the mistake of allowing Sarevok's spies to find them and poison their food.

And he was right, wasn't he? Just like telling Jaheira she was sorry for Khalid wouldn't do anything, wouldn't fix anything, would only remind the Harper just who was responsible for… for landing them all here.

Here in this strange city where they knew no one—but enough people knew them—all these unfamiliar faces everywhere, stranger after stranger, a blur of motion, this sea of people.

Edwin's crimson colors were far better to focus upon than the red which stained her mind. He was looking at her strangely. Of course he was; what did she expect? What did _he_ expect?

Sajantha turned away from him—from the crowd—reaching into her new pack. The haste potion slid easily down her throat but for the spicy burn in its wake. Just a sip. Just enough to (focus) stay awake.

"This does not do your easily-heightened emotions any favors," was all Edwin said, frowning at the bottle and the ruby drip on its lip.

She ignored him as she tightened the cap back on and returned it to the leather satchel. The pack had cost two gold. At least the potion hadn't cost anything.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _"filidar" – Common:- dainty food; a feast or picnic (as in: "a fine filidar it was too...", after a gluttonous prince of long-ago Turmish, Filidar the Fat, also known as Filidar the Fool and Filidar the Fop) (Polyhedron #71)  
_

 _Sorry it's kinda shorter/less-eventful than usual, though I did try to bulk it up a bit! It was sort of a leftover section in-between two chapters that didn't really fit with either, whoops. xD  
_


	8. Hindsight

=S=

Torchlight from the walls lent the Coronet's common room an orange haze as it filtered through the sweet stink of pipe-smoke, and tankards clanked and gruff voices threw calls and guffaws—loud enough to prompt a desire to duck through them—evenfest again looked to be a rowdy affair.

Sajantha picked her way through the jostling crowd with care, walking quickly as she could towards her friends. Minsc and Jaheira were speaking with the innkeep, but Yoshimo and Edwin had already found a table.

Yoshimo leaned back as she approached; his dark ponytail spilled over his shoulder. "Ah, Sajantha! Grace me with a tale, if you would. These ears have spent too long poisoned by this red viper, and long for more cultured conversation."

Edwin, across him, gave a roll of his eyes. "(He sits in a place like _this_ and speaks of culture?) Best try your insult again."

She took a seat between them and set down her plate and drink. "A tale? I fear I know little of Eastern lore, if you were hoping for something to curb your nostalgia."

"It would take more than a tale or two to cure that," Yoshimo said, of a sudden introspective. He rubbed at his jaw. "Tell me then, a story of your own." _Tell me a story,_ Imoen would say, settling in, hands propping her chin. "Just how did you get into adventuring?" He seemed genuinely interested, even as a poor substitute for tales of home.

 _A year ago,_ she'd told him, and no more. But if it could be called a 'story,' then it wasn't her life. A tale, like any other. Were the pieces still too sharp to touch?

Sajantha's fingers played along the edge of her plate. " 'Twas an ordinary spring day. Except I'd actually left the library and gone outside. And… someone tried to kill me." Nearly succeeded. She lifted a hand to her neck. A year ago... Had it only been so long? "We left—my father and I—in a hurry; I carried little more than my harp, the clothes on my back. I'd never even set foot out of Candlekeep before that."

A 'fresh novice' indeed, just as Yoshimo had guessed. She stared at her uneaten food. Not at Edwin. He already knew.

"He led the way as we ran, darkness our only ally. There came a storm, outlining our pursuers in lightning." How many? The night remained a series of fragmented images flashing through her mind, a distant roar of thunder began in the back of her head. "Archers and ogres led by a terrifying giant of a man, armor adorned with spikes as long as my arm, as sharp as the massive blade he carried."

As if birthed from the shadows, so suddenly had they appeared (like the night when the shadows serving Irenicus had taken them—) _Don't think about that. Don't._ But the next part of this tale was hardly more welcome. Gripping the mug tighter kept the tremors in her hands invisible.

"My father… he stood against them all." _Run,_ he'd cried. _Run, my child!_

She hadn't gotten far—too hard to leave him—before turning back to watch the battle on the hill. "He, his spells, held them off… long enough." His magic had slain the minions before he'd exhausted his spells upon Sarevok—who'd barely flinched—then the villain's great sword had nearly cleaved him in two.

She'd run. Fled blindly through the dark 'til the wind tore away the last of her breath, 'til her sobs would stay back no longer, and she'd collapsed. The tales did not tell just how dark and damp a night outdoors was. How endless, when the light had gone out of the world inside you.

If Imoen hadn't followed her, if her face had not appeared that first morning—smile as blinding as the sun rising behind her—would she have ever been able to crawl out from that hiding spot?

The threads of her story had unraveled in the silence. How to tie them back? She still held it too close. _A year._ Could there ever be enough distance?

The condensation from the still-full mug had left her hands damp; she wiped them off on her skirts, staring at the smear left on her lap.

"Is there not a bit more to the story than that?" Yoshimo's face was curious, but his voice was quiet, a gentle nudge.

On the other side of her, Edwin's attention waited like a physical thing, so strangely silent was he.

"My father died." There was no way the softness of her voice, the time that had passed, might buffer the blow—not when her words had returned him to life, however briefly. "So that I did not. It granted me the opportunity to avenge him. Which I did." That's what one did in the tales after all, wasn't it?

"A giant spiked man? He must have been an incredible foe! How did you track him down? How did you defeat him?"

Her hand tightened on her glass. "Sarevok? Surely you've heard his name, if you've heard of the troubles in Baldur's Gate." Enough tendays had passed on without her to allow tales—and rumors—to spread this far. "The Iron Crisis. Why so curious?" No. It made sense that he'd want to know—deserved to—the better question was for her: _Why so defensive?_

"I always like to know about the people that I travel with." His open face echoed the truth of his statement.

Nothing wrong with curiosity. And how much might she wish to question of Edwin, should she ever have him in such a seat? Why was he so _quiet?_ She took a sip of her drink, the ale bitter on her tongue.

"Sarevok," Yoshimo mused. "This name is familiar, yes. These nations were so nearly at war! So he was what involved you, raising you to the status of 'Hero,' eh?" _Catalyst._

No, no need to feel defensive, but, "We're entering the realm of public knowledge now; it's not so much to do with me."

"Excepting, of course, his pursuit of you for your father's power," Edwin interjected.

Yoshimo raised his eyebrows.

Better he had stayed silent. Heat traveled to her ears. What exactly did he know? "Been listening to rumors, have you?"

"I like to remain... informed."

She stared down at the table. "That's what he thought, aye." Her own voice sounded muffled.

"Forgive me," Yoshimo indeed sounded apologetic, "but you do not seem to be of noble blood... what sort of power does your father's line hold?"

 _Father._

No way to disguise her flinch, when the dread snaking through her nearly knocked over her drink. "My... my father?"

"Who was your father?" Yoshimo sounded far away.

Her father held her, pushing curls from her eyes as his own eyes filled with tears. _My... my child._

Sarevok towered over him. The blade sank down.

 _You're not my father,_ she told the doppel wearing Gorion's face. The blade sank into his chest.

 _Gorion was never your father._ Sarevok's laugh sprayed blood across them both. The blade sank into his throat.

 _Godchild._ The blade—

Fragments of memory rattled in her head, sharp and bright (and red), 'til her vision blurred. She gripped at the table; it wavered back in focus, but out of reach.

"It is said this Sarevok carried the blood of Bhaal, yes?"

Tight, wound so tight, she could not breathe. "So he did." A swirl of golden dust dissolved into the air as his body vanished—

"He thought the same of you?"

Sajantha licked her lips. "He—he was mad. He thought to be the next Lord of _Murder."_

" 'One of these children must rise above the rest and claim their father's legacy.' " Alaundo's words on Edwin's tongue.

Her eyes rose to him. "Don't tell me you actually believe all that."

Edwin stared back, expressionless but for that piercing gaze. "Don't tell me you do not." _You are sure you wish to play this game?_

She lurched to her feet, and maybe 'twas the single sip of ale sloshing through her head, maybe the memories, this sickness inside her threatening to overflow.

Yoshimo—Yoshimo stood, too—did he speak her name?

But Edwin was closer, taller, _louder,_ stealing all her senses when he rose with her. "What is the count at now, I wonder?" _How many have you killed, Sajantha?_

She stepped back, stumbling. A clang in her ears: the chair had fallen to the floor.

"So high as that?"

 _Away. Get away._ Away from his knowing gaze, from his voice following her (all the voices followed her, trying to break free), the crowd had surged in volume, in number, looming as if all had stood to watch her flee.

Her fast footsteps lost momentum at the top of the stairs, and out-of-breath, she slowed in time to miss clashing with an armored man coming around the corner; she hugged the wall as he passed. Nearly all the Coronet's customers were armed, but perhaps 'twas the crossbow on his back, the quiver belted at his hip, that seized her attention.

He paused, his hand on a silver-curved hilt—was he staring at her?—and she quickened her pace 'til she reached her door, glancing back as she opened it. He still stood in the hall, too far to see his eyes. _Was_ he staring…? Or was the creeping feeling all across her simply her nerves?

She slammed the door shut, peeling out of her armor to slide beneath her covers, but her heartbeat pounded in her ears, echoing around the pillow, as silver blades danced in her mind.

* * *

=E=

Edwin glanced back from the staircase from whence Sajantha had disappeared; the rogue had been staring at the stairs as well, a line creasing between his brows as he faced Edwin and they returned to their seats. What was this? Annoyance? _Disapproval?_

"In Kozakura, we make _habu sake_ —snake wine—from the _habu_ pit viper."

Ah, a follow-up to the tame 'red viper' remark, no doubt. Not a terribly offensive moniker, save for snakes often advertising with obviousness that they intended to strike. Edwin leaned back with a sigh, straightening his sleeve as he rested an arm upon the table. "Have you a point, or am I to understand you've regathered yourself for another attempt at an insult?"

The other man continued as if he'd not spoken: "The snake is iced until unconscious, then gutted, bled, and sewn back up. When thawed, it lashes out once before dying." He gestured with his drink, raising his eyebrows as if he shared some great secret. "The strength of its death throes is thought to indicate the resulting potency."

Not an insult: this stank of something more akin to a _threat,_ whatever the man's casual demeanor. "Do not think yourself capable of intimidating me." A laughable attempt, if a creative one.

The rogue took a sip of his drink, giving a light shrug; whatever had marked his earlier expression had utterly vanished behind what was surely a mask of good-natured neutrality. "Just making conversation."

"We neither of us believe that."

With a squeak of his chair, the Kozakuran stood up, hand lowering—

Beneath the table, Edwin's own hand reached for a spell pouch on his belt—

But the rogue's hand had come to rest passively over his stomach. "I'm afraid something is disagreeing with me." He tipped his head. "If you will excuse me."

Ah, slithering off to join the druid and the dimwit at the next table: of course he'd not the spine to attack directly. (Which one of them was the 'snake?' Bah.) Let them enjoy each other's wretched company, then.

Edwin's gaze returned to the stairs as he rubbed over the jewels of his bracers.

Had the rogue been fishing for information? Or had he already possessed enough pieces of Sajantha's story to assemble it on his own? Despite not looking terribly surprised by any of her words, the man had appeared far too deep-in-thought for someone who'd already had the truth, and why would he have made such an obvious attempt to uncover her past if his motives were truly suspect? _Hn._ The shady Kozakuran would no doubt remain difficult to pin down; an eye must be kept upon him.

But more importantly, Sajantha still wavered shy of facing the truth; this needed to be addressed. As would her neglecting to care for even basic necessities: both her glass and plate remained full where she had abandoned them on the table.

Edwin reached for his own forgotten drink, but a shudder quivered from his bracer down his limbs 'til he nearly dropped the mug with the sudden desire to open his hand. _Poison._ The bracers' enchantment had been activated beyond a doubt, its shiver still quaking through him.

The rogue—! Had he been close enough to poison Edwin's drink? He _dared—?_ The Kozakuran sat with his back utterly open to attack—foolish—but surely not so foolish as for this to be his work, when he yet sat within eyesight and could be ended with but a thought? (Unless he _intended_ Edwin to think—)

"Not him, Master," Raviwr's disembodied voice said quietly. "Deathbell." The imp hovered, invisible, at his shoulder; the creature would have surely noticed such an action, even if Edwin had somehow failed to. Slippery the rogue might be, but not so slippery as that.

 _Aconitum._ A poison especially effective in neutralizing spellcasters, leaving them dazed and disoriented, unable to speak, but a full dosage was required to do significant damage.

Edwin stared into the mug. The glimmering-gold glass of ale looked far more harmless (and more palatable) than it truly was, offering no insight. The sludge was hardly worth choking it down in the first place; whoever had arranged this certainly had an optimistic look at the odds of him consuming the entire thing.

 _Who?_ And did they now watch, awaiting his fall?

His glyph sparked no alert, but Raviwr had already begun circling the area, still hidden. Indeed, an investigation was in order; how to conduct it without alerting his enemies? _Hm._ Edwin headed for the stairs.

Eyes could be anywhere, but any of these rooms ought serve to cast an invisibility spell; 'twas too early for anyone to be abed, and these were the rooms reserved for long-term stays—not the hourly rooms around the corner—so he but needed to enter and—

The door directly across opened: Sajantha—already out of her armor (had she prepared to sleep?)—what was she doing, aside from standing in his way! She opened her mouth. "Edwin! I—"

"Not now!" If they were still in the area, he needed move quickly to catch them, and she had best remain out of reach. "Go back to your room."

"It's only, I—"

Gods! Must she always be underfoot? "This is not a good time; must I repeat myself? _Nomeno ifni nific,"_ he muttered the spell beneath his breath and opened the newly-unlocked door.

* * *

=S=

 _Go to your room_. Like she was some stupid child, like nothing she had to say was worth hearing.

And… maybe it wasn't. Just her being silly, jumping at stupid things—at nothing!—of course her mind could not be trusted (not anymore). The way she'd embarrassed herself at dinner…

But the man in the hall, that strange crescent-shape of his blade's hilt… why did it stick so sharp in her memory, unable to let her sleep? Edwin, _he_ might have recognized it, if he'd not needed to depart with such dismissive haste; the vibrations from the slamming door still reverberated through her. At least the stranger was no longer in sight, but…

Sajantha sent a last look around. Wait—who—?

Leaning against the rough stucco wall, a woman garbed in gold-studded dark leathers made a scoffing sound. _"Men."_ She'd seen that, had she? The woman managed to infuse the word with disdain, amusement, and a _knowing_ that left Sajantha with naught in response. What did she know, really?

Sajantha smiled weakly. "I suppose."

"My lover was always like that, too. He'd get so single-minded, focused on one thing…" She let out a breathy sigh. "It was nice when it was me." Her lips quirked up, something sharp in her smile. "He's dead now."

"Oh! I'm… I'm sorry." Something… what was it? Sajantha glanced back to her door, fingers grasping for the doorknob as some uneasiness tickled at her neck.

"Well," the woman drawled, "you really should be." Her smile grew teeth. "Since you and your friends are the ones who killed him."

Adrenaline shocked through her, rocketing down her fingers to twist the doorknob; Sajantha jolted her shoulder into it, sending her door flying open—not far enough—it caught on something.

And something caught onto her.

A strong grip squeezed down over her, over her mouth just as she tried to shout, pinning her arms. With only air beneath her feet and a swooping vertigo in her stomach, she kicked out as she was lifted back into her room.

The door closed with a solid click; the woman leaned against it.

"Shall it be fast, or slow?" Hot breath and a gruff voice gusted over her ear.

" _Mmph—!"_ A sour taste filled her mouth where his thick fingers wedged against her, his other hand tight around her stomach; her captor crushed her against his chest, solid metal on every side. But… there was something that did not match: not metal. The quiver—yes, he wore a quiver at his belt—

"Fast. She's not the one who matters." Silver gleamed as the woman lifted a dagger, its curved hilt catching the candlelight.

And then it flashed—the documents they'd handed over to Bloodscalp and the crescent moon stamped upon it—the symbol of Mae'Var's betrayal: not worth knowing, now.

Rivets of armor scraped against her skin as Sajantha struggled. She couldn't break free, but let him think she was trying to, let him focus upon holding her still: her kicking legs kept the woman from closing in. Her _self_ , the woman wanted to kill Sajantha her _self,_ the only reason she had this extra moment to live, to think.

The assassin let out a hiss, ducking back out of reach of Sajantha's legs. "Hold her _still,_ Greshal—"

 _The quiver._ What could be done with that? Sajantha kept thrashing, chafing against cold metal that gripped her tight, even as every flailing motion prompted a tighter squeeze, forcing air from her.

One hand on her mouth—he'd kept one hand over her mouth, so that side was looser—her hand, she could reach, just a bit. _The quiver._ Almost—! Her muscles screamed protest as she stretched, but her fingers grazed against the contents of it—there, there! One of the bolts jabbed against her reaching hand with a biting sting as she tugged a projectile free. Free enough—if she could just free her elbow enough to bend—twisting, she stabbed it upward into his hand, the only skin she could reach.

He staggered back with an angry cry, a stagger that turned to a stumble.

The room darkened; Sajantha blinked heavy eyelids. Barely enough to see the silhouette of the woman and her raised dagger, barely enough to see the crack of light of an opening door.

 _Bolt._ Her hand clenched around it, so close in design to the one Edwin had pulled from her shoulder the other day. _Paralytic._ The world began to sway; still trapped in his hold, they fell together, his armored weight too much for her to budge. If she could have moved. Fingers numb—the cut across them growing cold—her fist uncurled.

* * *

=E=

Raviwr's alarm became Edwin's own at the creature's non-verbal cry; he shoved open the door only to receive a flapping imp in his face as the both of them—both invisible, damn it!—collided in the hall.

Invisibility spells did not, alas, allow one to see those similarly-invisible, but his familiar's state allowed Edwin to see straight through him, to see the leather-garbed rogue outside Sajantha's door.

And Raviwr's franticness could be due to naught else: _"Shochraos vaeri,"_ Edwin muttered, tracing the weaves that set his hands aglow with arcing currents, and the trembling electricity surged around his fingers, leaping from his hands in a spray of light.

The target fell in a twitching heap, blue-and-white twinges of lightning still crackling across him. Dead, though his muscles would protest this some moments longer.

But his glyph had gone cold— _more of them!_ —Edwin whirled as a blur of movement flew by, an arrow rising to meet it: the arrow thunked harmlessly into the wall, just missing Raviwr as the imp hurtled towards the second attacker; he'd abandoned his own invisibility in attempt to distract.

Edwin sent his disapproval loudly through their bond— _Away!—_ and his familiar obediently vanished (as if the stupid thing could survive in close combat!), leaving a straight shot: Edwin's fingers had already flown through the familiar weave. " _Clax ixen!"_

A burst of fire tore through the air, expending far too much of its energy as it incinerated an incoming projectile; the spell did little more than stagger the archer back by the time it connected. _Another, then._ And Edwin could cast far faster than the fool could recover his balance and take aim again. " _Clax ixen."_

At last properly engulfed in flames, the wretch sank to the floor. And remained afire.

Edwin grimaced, dismantling the weave with a reversal which cost far more effort than the spell itself, but the building would not be burning down anytime soon. _(Hardly_ a relief.)

Glyph quiet, Edwin turned back around. Outside her door, the man had been outside Sajantha's door _._ Guarding it?

Draconic emerged between his clenched teeth: _"Valignat."_ Flames blazed to life on his hands and Raviwr reached for the doorknob, sending the door open.

Movement—some manner of muffled scuffle in the dim room stole the occupants' attention—but the nearest figure turned towards the doorway, a sneer upon her face. _Ama._ Of the Night Knives. She recognized him the same moment, her teeth baring in a grimace as she lunged forward, blade out.

Fiery grasp already reaching, Edwin stretched the weaves farther so the fire connected with her before her dagger could connect with him—the blast blew her back a step, flames eagerly licking at the clothing beneath her armor—and he grasped hold of her shoulders, releasing the spell in full in a singular surge that vaporized half of her into a thick column of smoke.

Edwin flung her remains to the floor—back out the door—and she fell, trailing ash and crumbling char.

Stillness had descended upon the room, a silence in between his heavy smoke-filled breaths. A scuffle—there had been a scuffle—but now there was only a tangled heap of limbs and armor that filled the narrow space between bed and door.

No blood. "Still alive," Raviwr chirped. "They still alive." But the creature's relief had said the same far faster.

Ugh. What a _mess!_ What in the hells was the Sembian guild doing here? A seared stink wafted into the air, weakening only a bit as Edwin crouched with care over the worn wood floor. _"Aussir nomeno ir_."

The focused dispel set the fallen man to blinking, his face the only part of his body he could move.

"How many more of you. Following Ama." Had the Night Knives turned out in force, despite Mae'Var's demise terminating their deal? Gods! This could not be allowed—not before the Scroll had been secured— _"How many?"_

The man's wide eyes had caught sight of his leader's body. "This was… this was all of us. All her idea. Please. _Please_. You don't have to—"

Pathetic. _"Sari bilaes si spol."_ A disintegration meant less to clean up and less mess about Sajantha; unable to resist the spell, the armored dolt disappeared in a scattering of dust to reveal her body lying in disarray: one hand had flung out, fingers half-curled around a crossbow-bolt, and her shirt had been bunched up.

And the spark of rage that had enflamed him upon first glimpsing her scar had simmered to a low heat, locked in his tight jaw. What manner of markings had been left upon her? Through her open neck, only the edge of it, enough to see a hint of lines: a symbol of some kind, some significance?

What was it. What _was it._ A line this straight was purposeful. Had Irenicus carved a glyph upon her? A symbol? A seal, to contain her magic? There must be a clue to illustrate his intention!

Well. This was an answer simply ascertained: even from here 'twas clear she wore naught else beneath her shirt (though with those small breasts she hardly needed to); Edwin leaned forward, with a simple motion, he could…

 _What are you going to do? Try to 'extract' answers out of me?_

No defiant curl to her lips now, nor any curve to them at all: Sajantha's resting face was smooth enough to appear almost peaceful.

Simple? Perhaps. But something felt _off:_ anything which looked so easily obtained was far more often a trap, and plenty of time remained in his favor. Sitting back on his heels, Edwin reached out. _"Aussir nomeno oium."_

Sajantha's tranquil form erupted into motion. Fingers scrabbling as if searching for a weapon, she ducked away, struggling up into a sitting position— _kicked—_

A burst of white momentarily stole his vision—and stole his balance as well—Edwin fell back. "Ow—gods!" _Kicked—?_ Had she just…? In his _face…?_ Edwin held his jaw, hauling up onto his feet. " _Gah!"_ No, _no_ , this couldn't—was that blood in his mouth?—this sort of thing simply did not happen! In his _face?_ But his Stoneskin enchantment had activated—the automatic defense unnecessary, when his assailant had retreated, hunching against the side of the bed—she stared at him, silent but for her harsh breaths.

Sajantha tugged at her shirt, readjusting it, and there—a flash of discolored skin on her stomach—more scars? All over her—these marks covered all over her? Did they? _Did they?_ A noise of protest caught in his throat.

His shadow fell across her as he stepped forward.

"What is going on!" _The Harper._ Not worth the bother to turn around, when Sajantha had cringed up against the bed, curled under her arms. Did she… did she expect to be struck? By him?

"Wizard." The voice at his back was nearly cold enough to wake his glyph. "What did you do?"

"I? Oh _, I?"_ He stretched his jaw. What had _Irenicus_ done? _What had he done!_ And why were these imbeciles still staring about—with weapons out—who had time for this! His _lip—!_ "I did nothing!" The words emerged strangely thick, barely legible, as if his tongue protested the inelegance of their brutish language. "I will not be maligned by your pitifully deficient brains overreacting and misinterpreting all you see; it is far too much effort to continually correct your insulting conclusions."

Half the words came out slurred—he could not cast this way! Where was a healing potion? "If you wish to fight me, let it be done now, else cease this cretinous casting of stones." There, yes, of course he had a potion; they could try what they wished.

"The evil wizard did not hurt little Sajantha?" The barbarian lowered his blade. "Then who will answer for—" The imbecile's gaze fell upon Ama only then; her scalded remains were difficult to mistake for any other's handiwork. (Even for those so simple as they!)

"Ah." The imbecile grinned. "A fitting end to those who hurt our friend! The boot of justice-dealing is never far from their backsides, whosoever it may be that does the kicking!"

Ugh. "(Alas, the helm of wit-preserving appears to have been removed prematurely.)" Not that there was any chance of the idiot figuring that one out. Indeed, a helm would have served him well, for the faded scars upon his apish skull.

The piddling room was already packed full—Edwin's back scraped against the dresser in attempt to avoid the pushy Harper as she swooped past him, where she helped Sajantha to her feet.

The tiniest sip of a healing potion had been enough to soothe his jaw; Edwin screwed the cap back on and returned it to his belt.

"One of them managed to slip through your defenses, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

The rogue pointed at his face. "I would have guessed anyone trying to strike you would be burned to a crisp long before they reached you."

"As with anyone trying my _patience?"_ Edwin flexed his fingers. Just how much of this game did the fool intend to play? "I—"

"Who was this woman?" the druid demanded. "Why did she attack you?"

Pfeh. There would be time to settle disputes of a personal nature later; Edwin turned his gaze back to Ama's corpse. "She was of the Night Knives, the organization Mae'Var planned to recruit to overthrow Bloodscalp."

"She was Mae'Var's lover," came a quiet voice beside him. Returned to (at least some of) her senses (few as they ever were), Sajantha was staring at the body. "You said no one would care that we'd killed him, that no one cared about him. But someone did."

Mae'Var and Ama had been lovers? And the woman had been distraught enough to avenge him? _Mae'Var?_ Surely not.

Sajantha noticed his disbelief. "Maybe you didn't know him so well as you thought."

No. Ama must have simply been angered their business transaction was no longer possible. "She was as cold-blooded as he." She would have to be, to bed the snake. "They lusted only for power." Yes, revenge for this was understandable, when they had deprived her of her goals.

But Sajantha was staring at the woman with a far too thoughtful look.

"Do not dare ascribe your fanciful romantic notions upon such a man as he! This was business, nothing else." Did this mark a return to the past year, when she would bemoan the death of every contemptible criminal to cross them? "Wonder no more."

Her gaze rose to his. "I'm glad he's dead. And learning the full story wouldn't change that. But that doesn't mean we knew it."

"They are worth no further thought." If this pitiful crew was all Ama had gathered to mount her attack (and poison was rarely the first choice of the confident), the Night Knives as a _whole_ were not willing to wage war upon the Shadow Thieves—especially without Mae'Var's support—they would not press their luck; she acted alone. (Why would she have thus thrown her life away in such a risky poorly-planned endeavor?)

No. No reason to dwell upon this. Whatever her reasons, sense was not among them.

"I'm going to go lie down," Sajantha said. Her straightened clothing revealed no sign of the scars beneath; they would have to remain a mystery for now.

"You are welcome for the rescue." Yes, let the Harper be sure to know where to level _credit,_ if she must continually fling about blame.

"Thanks for listening to me try to warn you," Sajantha replied.

"Here." The druid guided her free of their little battlefield. "You may use my room." She glanced down at the floor, at the melted trail of flesh and ash that marked Ama's departure. "I will see about," her nose wrinkled, "fixing this."

"A few coins will ensure the matter disappears nicely." 'Twas not as if Lehtinan was unaccustomed to either violence or the aftermath of it; it would be resolved easily enough.

But at the mention of money, Sajantha had paused, sending a grim look back before disappearing with the druid.

A weight settled onto Edwin's shoulder, and Raviwr's wings brushed against his neck. "Maybe check for poisons, yes-yes?"

"Poison?" The Harper reappeared in the doorway. "What do you mean?"

Oh. Yes, perhaps the rest had been targeted, as well. "It would be just like you lot to get yourselves poisoned again, would it not?" Even Sajantha had bought a charm to ward against poisons after that! Not that it was present any longer. Doubtful any other toxin would be so potent as the one that had required the diviner's assistance last year, but they could very well manage to die in such an embarrassingly ignominious way.

"I found no trace of poison in my meal," the rogue cut in. "But I will look into this while you deal with the innkeep, Miss Jaheira."

Let them do as they wished. At least Sajantha had consumed nothing; this was not his problem.

* * *

=S=

Sajantha locked the door and took in a deep breath; Jaheira's room smelled strangely fresh. Due to the druid's collected herbs, perhaps (or the lack of cremated flesh)? The candle she lit added the light scent of lemongrass and lavender, transporting her somewhere else, somewhere far away from the slums, from Athkatla, even if it looked little different than the last room.

Tidier even than Sajantha's had been upon first arriving, the bed's linen sheets had been folded to crisp edges, almost enough to make one feel guilty for disturbing it, but she laid down atop the narrow bed.

Even the pillow smelled somehow earthy, something of warmth, of sunshine. _No._ Just another kind of herb, but enough hint of the outdoors to bring it all to mind (bring to mind the dryads that open room of trees trapped still _trapped)—_

Another deep breath. The scents all muddled together, around her head, as if she sank somewhere deep within it, inside-out, something loosening in her mind, in her body, as if all of her were melting free.

 _A knock._

The sound pulled her from her daze with a jolt that stole her breath, a rush of upside-down vertigo—what…? No: _where?_ And her heart picked up speed, but however stiff the mattress, this wasn't cold metal armor she'd fallen against (nor a cold metal table).

Another breath. And Sajantha reached the door, rubbing her eyes. "Hi, Minsc." Like as not, she'd have failed to fall asleep, anyway.

"You did not finish your dinner. And—as delicious as it looked!—Minsc did not finish yours, either." Beaming, the big man held the full plate out, looking even less appetizing than it had when she'd left it.

"Oh, thanks—but you didn't have to; you can have it, if you like."

"Minsc is already big and strong!" He bent down, confiding: "And he has eaten two servings already." He straightened, pressing the plate against her. "Grow big, little Sajantha! We must be strong to keep evil in its place." Minsc gave his head a shake. "Especially when it walks so closely among us."

Her heart jumped—but, Edwin—he was speaking of Edwin. Yet Minsc had nearly seemed alright when he'd realized Edwin had taken care of the attackers! But… this sort of reconciliation surely took time, to accept the wizard was on their side. "He's not _evil_ , Minsc." Far too complex for that. "He's a person. A very condescending, entitled arse of a person sometimes, but—"

"Do you know the things Red Wizards do to Rashemi, Sajantha?" The absence of Minsc's smile left his broad face a strangely bleak landscape. "I… I do not even want to speak of it, it so makes my heart and mind and tummy sink, all swirled together." He touched his head. "I… If Dynaheir were here, she… she…"

"Oh, Minsc. I'm sorry. I am." There really wasn't anything more to say—the words all choked up in her throat, anyway—she ducked around the plate to hug him. "But we need someone dangerous on our side to fight Irenicus. Or we haven't got a chance." Her arms barely made it 'round his middle; one of his big hands came up to pat at her hair.

Over a head higher than her, resting on Minsc's shoulder, Boo squeaked.

Minsc pulled back. "Fight fire with fire? Boo says this can be true. But I do not see it; fire and fire is just more fire!"

"Swords fight swords, don't they?"

"Good swords fight evil swords! This… I will have to confer with Boo about this. But we are uneasy."

She pressed the plate back. "Eat that for me, will you? I'll have something else later." Congealed gravy was _not_ going to help her, but it hardly seemed enough to deter Minsc.

"Do you promise?" That stern look should have looked frightening, from such a scarred, tattooed, giant wild man, but it was weighted with far too much concern.

"Aye." She patted his shoulder—well, his upper arm, at least, high as she could reach—and a smile softened his face.

Returning to the bed once he'd left, Sajantha stared up at the ceiling, at the shadows the candle sent writhing. Could she go to sleep? (Did she want to?)

A crack of light—

The _door._ The door wasn't locked; she'd not locked it after—

She jerked up, reached for the dagger beside her—there!—and had it in hand even as the intruder became recognizable.

But Jaheira said nothing of it as she slipped into the room, even though between her elven eyesight and the candlelight she would see the blade quite clearly. "I've a new room, down the hall. They're cleaning up your old one, but you may stay here." Right. _A few coin,_ Edwin had said. Just how much had it cost, to look the other way, to clean up those scattered remnants of lives?

Jaheira set down Sajantha's belongings: the armor, the boots, the dress. The mostly-empty pack. So very little.

Reaching for her own pack on the floor, Jaheira slung it over a shoulder before straightening. "You are not injured, then?"

Scrapes and scratches, a new bruise or two. "No."

"Did Edwin…?"

"He didn't do aught but what he said." But of course Jaheira wouldn't believe any truth from _him._

 _Evil._ They all thought he was 'evil,' such an empty word if one had met the truest face of it (not a face) and thought to affix that label upon anything less.

"Hn." Jaheira's lips pressed together. "Well. I am… I am sorry I was not there." Her hand moved to the doorknob. "But I did find a lead for tomorrow."

"He said… to give him a chance. Remember?" The name was so very hard to say: "Khalid." Even if that chance had been more on Sajantha's behalf than Edwin's. (And Khalid had smiled, nudging his wife's shoulder, and though she'd swatted him away, she'd ended up smiling, too.)

A slit of light crossed Jaheira's face then turned to shadow as she stepped back. The door began to close. "I will let you rest."

* * *

Sajantha took a deep breath of the fresh summer, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

"You slept in. C'mon, ya lazy-bug!"

"Mmph," Sajantha mumbled, rolling away from the finger that poked at her side. "Just another minute."

The entire mattress buckled with the weight of an extra person, a person who giggled a bit as she continued to bounce upon the bed. "Up-up- _up!"_

And the next rocking motion knocked the pillow off her face; Sajantha blinked away white spots in her vision from the brilliant sun to see Imoen's beaming smile, just as bright.

But—if the sun had already reached the tower window—

Realization shocked through her, sending Sajantha upright. "It's—it's so late!" Midmorn, at least!

 _Late._ What was it? Something she was late for, something she was missing: her heart was already pounding. "He's going to be upset." Wrong, wrong, she'd screwed it up again. Sajantha threw the covers aside.

Imoen sat back on her knees; the bed's motions came to a halt. "Who?"

Faces swam in the air, cold and angry and disappointed. _Who…?_ Ulraunt. But his face was so still it was stiff, stitches pulling the skin taut to the seams.

Seams? Her heart lurched.

 _No._ No, no, this wasn't real; Ulraunt didn't look like that (didn't wear a mask-face not-a-face): the last time she'd seen Ulraunt, he—

 _You're to be executed. Your transgressions will be punished, as they deserve._

There was a shadow in the doorway; Sajantha looked up, her heart in her throat: her father stood there, shaking his head, horror on his face and in his disbelieving eyes (at her, he looked at her).

And they were back in Reevor's storeroom, the weight of her accident (her mistake) far too heavy to carry, however small the bodies. "They were… they were just _cats!"_ Sajantha cried but her father was backing away from her and Imoen—Imoen!—she was looking ill.

"But… but, Sajantha… they _ain't,"_ Imoen said, and Sajantha looked down. At the faces of friends new and old, young and old (and more and more whose names she didn't know, would never know); they filled the room, their blood painted it.

The red floor was slick against her bare feet. Her hands—

Red.

And when she looked up into the entry, no tall robed figure filled it, only gray robes (bleeding red) upon the ground. _Father._

Words caught in her mouth, but only a whimper fell free; Sajantha took a step back. She swallowed. "Imoen…"

Only, Imoen… _Imoen…_ she had fallen, too.

Sajantha's head snapped up, a wave of darkness greeted her. Her room, this was her room—at the Coronet (not Candlekeep)—and nothing on her feet but the wrinkled sheets; the covers must have been kicked free but still left her too hot as she raised a hand to her damp brow.

The pillow no longer smelled of sunshine. It smelled of sweat, the small room stale with the stink of it, and the candle offered only the faintest reprieve. Still burning. Not far enough for very much time to have passed. But enough time since her last meal: her stomach sent a tentative reminder.

 _Eat something._

She'd promised Minsc. And it wasn't as if she'd be able to go back to sleep (with murders on her mind). _No._ No point in lying there; Sajantha rolled out of bed.

The torches on the walls lit the dingy hallway strangely bright. Who could tell what time it was? Plenty of traffic still trickled to and fro the back rooms, so perhaps the kitchens were still open. Not that whatever… whatever they…

Her trail of thought dissolved as she turned the corner, for a familiar image greeted her at the bench in the hall: a red-cloaked figure absorbed in a book. For a moment nostalgia threatened her steps, her vision replaying old scenes instead of focusing on the reality before her. How many evenings in camp had she found Edwin thus? And how many times had she thought about him when she'd not?

But he was here, now. Really here. Not a ghost of memory, not a phantom her mind conjured up, but something real and vibrant as the colors he wore.

The kitchen's tasteless food beckoning her empty stomach did not call with quite the same loudness as the empty spot on the bench beside him. Rather hit-or-miss, his reception to her, but he _was_ out here in the hall, after all. Not that anyone else acknowledged him but to give him a wide berth as they passed.

He hadn't yet looked at her, and mayhap Raviwr only alerted him if there were danger. Better or worse, if the imp had not mentioned her?

Sajantha came to a stop before the bench. "May I sit here with you?"

Edwin glanced up from his reading, brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Why?" The wood creaked beneath her as she shifted her feet. "I have to have a reason, I can't simply want to?"

Though his eyes moved slowly over her in study, the mind behind them raced far faster. "You have to have a reason because you _asked_ me; normally you invite yourself without request." The book fell closed against his lap; his long fingers rested over it.

"Normally." She looked down. "What is normal, anymore? I..." She wavered—it hadn't been a refusal, really—then sat at his side. "Am I? Do I seem normal, I mean."

His gaze returned to the book for a moment. "Not enough to fool those who know you."

 _Used_ to know her. Who knew her, now? "I can fool everyone else, though, you think? Pretend I'm a normal person?" In the daylight, at least—around other people—it didn't seem nearly so much a struggle. Not compared to the silence that waited to unravel her in her room.

" 'Normal,' " he scoffed. "Whyever would you wish to be?" His face, always so certain, grew even more intent. "You could be so much more."

His full attention had fallen on her, now—the weight of his gaze drove her own away—she stared at her hands. "Putting things into perspective for me?" She settled into the bench. "Thanks." Leaning her head against the back of it, she turned her face towards him. "I... I'm glad you're here."

One shoulder came up, a careless shrug. "Of course you are. Your chances of success have increased exponentially with my mere presence."

The smile couldn't live long on her lips, but it left her lighter. "You're such an ass."

His mouth twitched. "So I have been told."

Eyes afraid to lose him, she couldn't break her gaze away, couldn't stop the words that surged up: "I missed you."

"I am not surprised." His expression fell somewhere between serious and smug, and would this feeling bubbling up inside her flow free in laughter or tears?

He looked away first, raising his book as he leaned back into the bench, and the quiet broke only with the turning of pages, of passing footsteps.

None of these strangers would be a danger, none of the people walking past them ought concern her. _Quiet._ (Not the kind of quiet that took root and whispered inside her.)

A crisp rustle: the careful turn of a page. Was there any sound more familiar? If she closed her eyes, she could… she could almost…

* * *

=E=

Several minutes passed in silence before Edwin turned to look at Sajantha, the low growl of her stomach demanding his attention. Sleeping. Not open to conversation, then.

But the third time her stomach rumbled, he nearly snapped at her. Enough of this! Who could concentrate with such distraction?

"Raviwr." He reached for his coin-purse. "Gather a dinner from the Mithrest." They ought be familiar enough with the imp's presence to not be alarmed to the point they refused to serve. Money was money, after all, and the gold-mongers of this city overcame their ingrained distrust to deal with even magi—and their servants—given payment enough. Besides, they had been granted a generous enough retainer to hold his room (far more suitable a location than this excuse for an inn); they would not refuse him.

He stared down at the girl beside him. This uncompromising determination to save coin would not lead to her skipping meals, would it? She was thin enough already; perhaps some more weight would leave her looking less hopelessly like a disheveled beggar. The upgraded clothing had helped somewhat, yet…

 _Do I seem normal?_

But for that brief flash lighting her as she'd insisted they rescue Mae'Var's prisoners… no. Not at all.

His fingers moved across the book. Divination was an incredibly dull subject, howsoever useful the subject might on occasion be, but reading about the translation of materials not yet in possession was difficult to summon interest for; he set it down.

He cleared his throat, and Sajantha awoke with a start, looking around.

"Oh," she blinked, "sorry, I—I must have drifted off."

"Your food is here."

"My food?"

Raviwr hopped along the bench, a bowl of fern frond soup in his hands. "Careful, careful. Still hot."

"Oh! You got me…? Thank you, Raviwr—Edwin." She took the bowl. "Aren't you going to have anything?"

"No."

"I don't think I've seen you eat so very often, in public…" She tilted her head, as if trying to remember. "Have I?"

As if there were aught hereabouts even worth dining on. "I do not care to."

She took a bite. "Afraid you'll make a mess? Need to stay all properly dignified when the masses can see you?"

"Something like that."

She watched him as she ate, as if awaiting further explanation.

"There are a handful of times when one is reliably found off-guard, and they all involve such basic physical needs." Predictable habits were the easiest to exploit.

"Let's see… so you don't want to get caught with your mouth full, your eyes closed, or your pants down?"

"Exactly. (And we must not neglect to mention being pounced upon from behind.)" No precautions might alert when this was done in jest, as he had discovered to both their chagrin.

"I…" She lowered the spoon. "I wouldn't call it a 'pounce.' Exactly."

"No?"

"No! You're overreacting, just as you did then."

"Better than _under_ -reacting when there is a real threat."

She glanced back at the soup. "Are you truly afraid someone is going to kill you while your mouth is full and you can't speak a spell?"

"It is a legitimate possibility." Especially in a place like this. That pack of reprobates that had been lurking about well after their business in the back halls ought to have been concluded had only just left; once Sajantha retired, he would leave her room warded against trespassers before returning to his own.

"That's the sort of thing you're thinking about all the time, isn't it? So you never feel safe, either."

"The difference is that _I_ can handle whatever is thrown at me; I'll not be caught off-guard." Surprise was a greater foe than any other. "You make your own safety: cease running from your magic and you may at last learn how to protect your own self (instead of relying upon everyone else.)"

Ceramic scraped against the bench as she set down the bowl, spoon rattling.

Was she finished? "You have barely touched it."

"I'm not so very hungry." She stood. "Thanks, though."

"You are going to sleep?"

She made a sound, the first breath at the beginning of a laugh. "Sleep? Well. I'm going to my room."

Retreating from the conversation, then. "You cannot run from the truth." Nor from what had transpired. No matter what she wore to cover it.

"That doesn't mean I want to talk about it."

"If you will not speak of it, then show me." There was no way to proceed so ignorant of what had occurred! Did she expect him to stumble about in the dark, as blind as the rest of them? He rose. "I need to know what he did to you."

Her gaze jerked up towards him as she took a step back, hands coming up over her chest. "Wh-what?"

'What,' indeed: was this misplaced modesty? The red on her face might rival his robes! "There is no need to look so alarmed; this is for knowledge-gathering only." Did she fear his intentions were lecherous? Laughable, that his intellectual inquiry (of unrivaled importance!) would be compromised by something so base. "It will not take long. There is naught else there to hold my attention," he assured her.

Now her hands had come up to cover her mouth; her shoulders hitched up as she turned away.

Was she... gods! "You are not _crying?"_

"L-leave me alone." She curled away from him even as he reached her shoulder.

"Do you still allow your emotions this unfettered free rein?" No wonder they caused her such trouble! "You must get yourself under control before you embarrass yourself." At least few observers lingered about the back hall, and Lehtinan's guards paid little attention, but such shortcomings should not be revealed in public if they must be suffered at all. "I assure you, there is no reason to be so upset."

She remained facing away, but by the set of her shoulders, this did nothing to appease her.

Had he been unclear? Just how many words did she require! "(It is beyond conceit I would have any untoward designs upon her person; this sort of small, undernourished body is hardly—)"

She jerked away from him—yes, those were indeed tears— "Leave me alone, you _ass_ hole!" Her voice broke on the last word, and she disappeared down the hall, her door shutting just shy of a slam.

What… what in the hells was wrong with her? And how to tell, with so much being kept from him? Surely only one of her capricious nature could deliver the same word with endearment in one tone and denouncement in the other. What twisted mind might make sense of this!

"Is okay." Raviwr patted his shoulder. "She not confusing. You's just stupid."

Edwin clenched his teeth, biting back the flash of heat that sent fury to his tongue. No use threatening the obnoxious thing with threats they both knew he would not enact. "I suppose you are going to try to convince me she wishes company again." As if the imp knew anything about… anything!

"Not _Master's_ company. You's made a mess. Raviwr fix it for you?"

 _Fix it—!_ Edwin let out a sharp breath. She did appear to have a weakness for the imp's company, it seemed (one that the fool creature surely shared); perhaps the blasted thing's interference could continue to be useful.

"Find out…" No. Just… hm. "Do not pester her overmuch, yes? Obey her as you would I, should she dismiss you." Not that she would speak in such harsh language to the creature, however he might annoy her. Or, might she? She was not acting in a manner that could be safely predicted. Perhaps one of her emotion-triggered wild surges would knock the stupid thing from the air.

Worth suffering the secondhand pain through their bond. For if she were truly unable to channel magic… this would be more than mere inconvenience.

* * *

=S=

Edwin had seen that scar—only enough to know it was there—and he wanted more of it, wanted details, like she'd just… just _bare_ herself, when she couldn't even stand looking at it or even thinking about it? Figuratively or literally, 'twas too terrifying a thing to face.

Sajantha lit a fresh candle.

The shadows jumped and writhed, closing in on the small room. Dark. Still too dark.

Another candle.

The shadows licked only the corners of the room, faster, livelier. Not enough. Not enough, and no more—

The fumbling sound at her door made her jump. Heavier, this time, no scratches. She ignored it for a minute, but 'twas certainly not _Edwin_ pawing at the door—

Raviwr's clawed hands were full: he carried the soup. "Here, here. Not cold yet, nope-nope."

Indeed, the bowl quickly warmed her shaking hands. "Thank you." She held on an extra moment before filling the spoon. Even a little bit of broth set her stomach back to swirling. "Would you like to stay?"

"If you's wants me to." The imp spun around, his long tail flicking behind him. "Raviwr will tell Master—"

Oh, right. "N-no, it's—it's alright." 'Twas a silly thought. "Thanks for bringing it."

"You's wants Raviwr to go?"

"I think I'd better get some sleep." The way her head had begun to pound— "Thanks, though."

She shut the door and stood in the middle of the room. The mirror on the wall watched her (don't look at it, don't); she turned away, ice creeping up her spine. No. The soup was definitely cold. She curled up in bed, leaving the bowl atop the dresser.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Thanks to Kyn for helping with this chapter, as well as for use of the poison 'Deathbell' from a recent chapter of Aegis of Candlekeep III. ;D_


	9. Artifact

=S=

Sajantha stopped on the stairs and scanned the Coronet's morning crowd: unfamiliar faces peppered her vision, challenging for her bleary eyes to pick out. No, there really _wasn't_ anyone here she knew, a certainty that settled deeper the longer the seconds dragged on. Where was everyone? Was she too early—too late? Some of the faces began looking back, their creeping eyes free to crawl upon her; she took a step back from the banister. Into someone.

Hands steadied her before she knocked the both of them down the stairs. Oh—! _Yoshimo._ Good—good. "S-sorry." Sajantha smoothed down her skirts, ignoring her heartbeat that continued to flutter as if it had fallen without her.

"It is I who must apologize! Last night…" Yoshimo held his hands out, palms up, as though in supplication. "Yours is a fascinating tale, but I had no wish to cause such disturbance in asking for it."

Such _embarrassment,_ he meant, for her running off like that. She pulled down on the gloves that half-covered her fingers. Wearing long sleeves would provide much better reassurance, if a bit too warm for the weather. "It wasn't you, not really. Just a lot of memories, is all."

"Of course we all have things in our past we do not wish to look back upon. It was impolite of me to press you."

"Impolite of _you?_ But you didn't know."

 _Edwin_ did. Knew just how she'd felt when she'd confessed to having killed only that first assassin back in Candlekeep—her wild magic calling the fallen dagger to her hands as they struggled—

Edwin knew some of that. Enough to know it would hurt her to hear, to remember. But, Yoshimo… he didn't know any of it. _It is said this Sarevok carried the blood of Bhaal, yes?_ Though perhaps he suspected.

"Ah," Yoshimo still sounded apologetic, "but it is something I must recall for the future." Yes, 'don't poke Sajantha too hard else these fragile pieces might shatter.' "Please forgive this old scoundrel his curiosity."

Sajantha tried a moment to match his smile with her own, but it just, it didn't quite _work,_ and she quickly drew her gaze forward, staring instead at the crowd as they climbed down the stairs; even as the faces in the common room grew closer, none grew recognizable. "Where are the others? They left?" Surely they'd not slept in!

The late morning meant much less of a crowd, and Yoshimo easily found them an empty table. "Our Jaheira is quite the early riser," he said, settling in. "I do not think she wished to wait for us; she took the hamster and his ranger with her as well."

Looking for work. Something to take them farther afield, perhaps; neither of the two enjoyed cities so very much. They'd come back, though. They'd come back.

Sajantha took a seat opposite him. "What about… Edwin?"

Yoshimo glanced up, quirking an eyebrow.

"What _about_ Edwin?" That acerbic accent left no doubt as to who had spoken.

She straightened—almost hitting the hand resting upon the back of her chair—as the man himself stepped around behind her.

"So," Edwin took the seat at her left, "what is the forecast to be? Another day, more aimless stumbling about?" They'd made so little progress, 'twas not as though the reminder helped, though that disapproving tone hardly sounded disappointed: it mattered not to him. "You have yet to decide, or you require direction? A swift kick to the rear, perhaps, as with any mulish layabout?"

Back to business, then. At least it didn't look as if he meant to bring up last night's topics, which ought to be a relief. Was Raviwr about? Sajantha stared at the glass Edwin had set down beside him before meeting his gaze. "Jaheira's gathering some leads."

"Jaheira?" he repeated, nose wrinkling just short of a sneer. "Surely you do not allow _her_ to make your decisions now? (How quickly this group's prospects deteriorate.)"

"Why, did you have something in mind?"

Edwin clasped his hands together. Of course he did: "I have a prospect. An idea, a direction." He leaned closer, his hood tilting back to reveal eagerness lightening his eyes.

"Do tell, Edwin!" A light sparked in Yoshimo's eyes, as well.

Edwin spared the other man the briefest disdainful raise of his brow before continuing. "I seek an artifact lost to antiquity (but not so lost to a perceptive mage). The Graveyard District, the lower tombs. I have secured us entrance."

"I suppose we could consider it." Yoshimo barely concealed his grin: "Do you think this artifact would fetch a fair price?"

Edwin was nowhere near so amused. "There are things worth infinitely more than gold; do you need this explained?"

"When we're only _after_ gold? I should like an explanation, aye." Just what could be of such value, to have so captured his attention? He was almost… no, no 'almost:' he was _excited._ With that light in his eyes, and some energy about him he but barely contained, it took a moment before she could look away.

"What is so special about this artifact?" Yoshimo agreed.

"I have not the time to explain it to the unlearned." Edwin's head tipped towards her. "What say you, Sajantha?"

"I'm not sure. What use would it be to us, if not in gold?" Exciting for _him,_ of course. But for the rest of them?

He waved an unconcerned hand. "There will be much else there to fill your financial hungerings; your avaricious hands will not be left empty."

Was there a piece missing from this? Too little here to make sense of. "You wish me to raid tombs with you. Why, exactly?" Just what aid did they expect her to be?

"You need not concern yourself over details."

"I'm not feeling especially concerned about artifacts, either. Just what do you need me along for, anyway?"

His gaze flicked to Yoshimo; the two men shared a look. Not simply curious, this was outright suspect!

Sajantha leaned forward. "Yoshimo," _he_ would be far more forthcoming, "just what is going on?"

The rogue shifted a bit in his seat. "The lady Jaheira is very… insistent."

The realization hit heavily, sinking into her stomach. "She wants you both to keep an eye on me." Of course, of _course_ she did; Jaheira would not have left otherwise. But it meant she was willing to trust them (more than she trusted Sajantha).

Edwin remained expressionless as Yoshimo gave an uncomfortable shrug.

"So your plan is to take me along with you. While you crawl about in tombs?" Fingers crept up Sajantha's spine.

Edwin's eyes were keen. "Does the darkness frighten you so much?"

"It depends on what's hiding in it."

"Pfeh. I have waited long enough for this; I will linger no longer. Come along, or remain hiding in here." He sniffed. "(I can see why she'd prefer the milieu.)"

"If you do not wish to go, I will stay with you," Yoshimo offered.

"Thank you."

Edwin's gaze followed her, as difficult to read as the rest of his face; she turned away from both of them to go get her gear.

* * *

Sajantha's footsteps echoed down the upstairs corridor. Torches on the walls shivered as she passed, drafty like the fingers down her back. (down in the steep stone walls, the echoes traveled deep; the metal grating of the floor gave them tinny teeth)

A hum rising in her ears blocked out sound—blocked out her vision—she took a step and her balance was gone; the floor was gone.

 _Does the darkness frighten you so much?_

Air, air, there was no air. Not in here this hellish hall: no air, no sound no light and the shadows pressing in at the edges of her vision squeezed as hard as the pressure on her lungs.

Not dark enough, yet: a deeper shadow fell over her. How many times had he stood above her, watching? (Do you see?) Did he stand over Imoen, now?

 _Imoen._ Where was she? Did the cold stone press into her torn knees? Did the cold press into all of her body, into bruised flesh as she shuddered, as she shook? Did it drag her down 'til she collapsed, 'til all the warmth of her insides leaked out? So quickly it went cold.

Cold: naught but blood will warm it. Blood: dried beneath her nails. Beneath her skin. Another layer inside her—not contained within her veins, no—it leaked free to drown her.

"Oh," Sajantha whispered, and was that warmth tears on her cheeks or spittle from her mouth or was it blood that poured free of her lips? " _Oh..."_

Did Imoen scream? Did she scream for Sajantha to save her? How many days had she been there—how many days did she have left?

"Do you need a hand...?"

Hand. The palms against the floor were sweaty and slipping; fingers could not dig into stone.

But they could dig into eyes.

(see do you see)

"You be needing some help, sweetie? You alright there?"

 _There_. Where? Words. They swam in her brain, swirled to the top where she could separate them, view them, assemble them again.

 _You alright?_ They still didn't mean anything, so Sajantha answered in kind, just as meaningless: "I'm fine." She found her feet again, for all they felt disconnected. Stood. Blood rushed through her head, a strange song humming in its pulse.

The stranger snorted out her disbelief. "That's what 'fine' looks like, can't say I'm reassured."

"I'm fine." If she said it enough, it might mean something, might be more than a string of syllables. Might even be true.

Sajantha looked up. Real concern waited on the woman's face, unconcealed even behind a layer of carefully-painted makeup.

Like cymbals crashing, the beats in her head (in her heart) resounded into each other louder than anything else. Did her heart stop in the silence that followed?

(It couldn't. Couldn't stop. Over and over, he brought it back, brought _her_ back—again, again, again–)

The woman frowned, reaching out her hand. "You sure?"

Sajantha took a step back. "I'm fine," she said, aloud. _I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine._

* * *

=E=

Edwin turned his attention to the rogue as Sajantha departed, examining the other man over peaked fingertips. "Watch yourself, Yoshimo." Whatever the man's designs, he was most certainly up to something. "You might have the rest of them convinced of your good intentions, but a Red Wizard sees more than appearances."

"Appearances?" The rogue raised his eyebrows. "You take such care all anyone sees is _red_ when they look at you."

"It is worse to be upfront? I conceal no nature beneath this one."

"No? No man is exactly as he seems. Is it worse to lie to others, or to one's self?"

"And just what lies are you telling? It is considerably more difficult to fool a—ack! Watch where you clamber about, you diminutive ale-clouded half-wit!" Edwin jerked his glass away from the fool stumbling towards him. "Are your brains as stunted as the rest of you? You nearly knocked over my drink!"

The clumsy dwarf did not so much as blink. "Well, excuse me, then." He matched Edwin's glare with a grin made grim by his yellowing teeth and wild eyes. "Perhaps I should be guttin' ye with me axe, and then ye'll worry less about yer precious drink, aye?"

Precious? The slosh would taste no worse—and be no less clean—were it lapped from the table; 'twas the offense itself which could not be tolerated. Edwin smiled, fingers curling into the table's edge as he leaned forward. "Perhaps you should _try,_ you flea-bottomed oaf. I should like to see how far you get with your insides aflame _._ "

"I've nay a liking fer base dabblers in the blacker arts." The dwarf gave a shrug. "But 'twas yer talk of tombs what brought me by, nothing with yer sun-shiny nature, no."

"I have never before heard of the sharpness of dwarven ears," the rogue said, giving the bearded brute a long look. "Or could it be our news has traveled so fast?"

Private conversations such as theirs traveled only when nosy folk such as this one stuck their bulbous noses into it. Edwin shook his head. "Eavesdropping, were you? I've a cure for that. A most _permanent_ deterrent."

"Oh, aye? Do it involve fire, mayhap?" The dwarf snorted. "What, nothing else in yer bag o' tricks, spell-chucker?"

Insolent toad. "You will beg for so quick an end."

"Ha! We'll see who's begging, once the blood starts flowing." The dwarf squinted up at him, gray-blue beard rustling as he shook his head. "I don't aim to waste yer time, mage. As it happens, I be heading to the Graveyard District meself, and I've an offer for ye: so long as ye helps me plunder me tomb as I ask, I'll help ye search out yer little artifact. If ye still be wishing to set me afire once the looting be done, I'll gladly stay me axe 'til then."

Edwin leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table. A melee addition might not be unwelcome. What was one more exercise in patience? "Perhaps it can wait so long as that."

* * *

=S=

Back in her room, Sajantha scrubbed her face and did not look up into the mirror above the basin. She grabbed her belt and her cloak and what passed for her pack.

The girl in the glass caught her eye as she went by. Almost tripped her.

Sajantha slammed shut the door and left her inside.

Her feet moved fast down the hall—like she could outrun it—but the chill didn't loosen its hold. She ducked her head. Faster. Footsteps a blur. Faster. A shadow—boots—

Too late to do aught but collide with the large figure: tangling feet; they stumbled together. "I'm sor–"

The man swung a gauntleted fist with enough force behind it to knock her against the wall, knock all the air from her; she sucked in a pained breath. "Get yer stinking hide out of my way!" Voice gravelly, deep, over the shick of a sword being drawn—so fast as to be reflex—

No magic to save her: the cold blade would sink into her gut; it would twist, it would leech the warmth from her and together they would puddle to the floor—

"Calm down, Cohrvale," another voice said from somewhere far lower, "Mr. F don't like ye killing people in the open."

"Shut your trap, dwarf! I'll not be ordered. As for you…" The large man drew back his arm—the force of it had been all that held her upright—she staggered, no strength in her knees (nor in any of her) and sank to the ground.

The hand on the blade hesitated, forced to readjust its angle.

Cringing back from Irenicus had done no good (cold his anger cold as the rest of him); he would follow her. It was better not to fight (not to make him angry).

It still hurt.

The blade came down. (Do you see?) She curled up so she didn't have to. She knew what came next (the blade)—

It sank in with a familiar wetness, a splash of warmth across her face. It didn't hurt.

It didn't hurt.

Something heavy fell with a thud, with a clang of metal, something lighter scrambled away.

"Are you alright, my lady?" A new voice. Younger, lighter.

She touched her cheek. Wet. "This isn't mine."

"No, thank the gods."

"It's not mine. It's not mine." But her fingers came away red (always red).

Metal creaked—the voice was closer, now— "Are you alright?"

Sajantha looked up. "Where did you come from?" she asked, because a rescuer in shining armor was not a part of this tale, however many times she'd tried to dream someone.

Light brown eyes softened. "I have found that the gods put us where we may do the most good. Where we are the most needed." The young man held out his hand, ignoring the blood across her own. Warm and calloused, his palm, he lifted her to her feet with ease.

She winced.

"You are wounded!"

"No, it's... it's nothing." His hand had enclosed her own; she'd have to let go to grab her shoulder. "From before."

"Do you find yourself in these situations often?" He cast a glance around, the lines of his mouth flattening. "Indeed, 'tis a vile place. Have you need, perhaps, of a valiant sword-arm?"

"I..." Her grip tightened as her heart lurched. "I..." His arm. She'd left red streaks across it.

"My lady?"

She let go. "I have to clean this off." This time, nothing stopped her—real or imagined—as she hurried down the hall.

Shut in her room, the stranger in the mirror stared back, eyes dark smudges on a ghost-pale face. Cold water splashed away the numbness but couldn't stop her shivering; Sajantha opened her door with a shaking hand.

The knight—was he a knight? all silver armor and proud posture—still stood there. Waiting. His stance straightened even more as she returned to the hall.

"I'm sorry." She looked down. "I didn't even thank you." Her face heated. What must he think of her?

"I am only grateful you were not harmed."

Nothing else moved nearby but the flickering torches. "Where is he?" Not even a smear of blood remained to mark where the man had fallen.

He shrugged. "Lehtinan's guards took care of it. Pity they weren't more proficient when it came to their actual duties, allowing such things." He shook his head, a disgusted curl to his full lips.

"Was he really going to strike me?" Perhaps the man had only been posturing—perhaps he'd only meant to frighten her—

"Why take the chance? The sort of man to raise his blade against a defenseless woman would not hesitate to use it. I could not hesitate to see whether he would. The world is better rid of such scum."

 _Defenseless_. Her magic couldn't even save her now. Sajantha hugged her arms. "Aye. I suppose you're right. No one else should have to go through that. Thank you for... for being here."

With a mind much clearer, 'twas equally clear his armor was not so shining: as if she'd dreamt such a fancy-tale figment! Loose strands of hair swept across his brow, and a narrow beard covered a strong jaw. In his early twenties—her own age, or very near it—and however scuffed his armor, he may well have stepped from the pages of such a tale.

"What's someone like you doing in so 'vile' a place as this, then?" The inn boasted only the most questionable sort of occupants, after all.

"Ah." He ran a hand through his brown locks, clearing his throat. "In truth, my lady, I am in search of a quest most righteous to prove myself worthy of knighthood."

"Truly? Just what sort of righteousness do you expect to find around here?" The Coronet so far appeared to deserve its reputation.

"You jest, but," his brow furrowed, "I have found many things I did not expect to." An earnestness elevated his voice with a grand ring. "I believe the gods test us in such ways. Forgive me, but you look as though you have far more troubles than this. Is there aught I can aid you with? Could it be you have such a quest?"

She should not. She should not involve him. A righteous knight? Allying with thieves—or worse—their group hadn't the luxury of things like 'honor.' This could not possibly…

His eyes, so dreadfully expectant, stared into her.

Sajantha bit her lip. "It could be, aye."

"Then prithee, tell me what ails thee, and I shall endeavor my utmost to assist you."

"It's not me, it's my friend—my best friend. She's like a sister to me. She's..." A shudder swept through her; Sajantha covered her mouth. "She's in trouble."

"A worthy cause, indeed." He nodded once, firm. "I've a sister. And I'll aid you however I can with yours."

* * *

Edwin's eyes locked onto her the moment she returned down the stairs, though he waited 'til she neared before speaking. "There is blood on your blouse."

Even with her face washed, the splatter had landed beyond it. "Yes," she agreed, "there is."

His gaze swept over her. Searching for injury? "Hn," he said at last. Looking up, his eyes narrowed in on Anomen stepping up behind her. "What is this large and cumbersome shadow you've gained? Rather unsightly, as far as accessories go; one hopes you had better taste."

Going to be like that, was he? As if he knew exactly where to poke to deflate what little good humor she'd gained! "This is Anomen of House Delryn, squire of the Order of the Radiant Heart, and cleric of the Watcher, Helm. Anomen, this is Edwin."

Edwin drew up his chin, hands on hips. "That is, Edwin _Odesseiron–"_

"And, this is the great Yoshimo," Sajantha continued, speaking over him. Too far, perhaps she'd gone too far, but too late, now. If Edwin wished her to be polite; he ought attempt the same. "Freelance... ah, what was it?" Surely he'd not wish her to out him as a 'thief,' and Imoen had never wished to be called such a thing, either, even with the skills of one.

 _Imoen._ She bit down on her lip, hard—crossed her arms to hold down the flutter in her chest—but no one was looking at her. No. Anomen had seen. She glanced away.

Yoshimo flourished up a bow: "Freelance bounty hunter, at your service."

A bounty hunter—oh! Even Edwin raised an eyebrow, but that was only as he gave her a pointed look. Well. No bounty upon her, now: no reason for such a title to mean aught to her, was there?

The grizzled dwarf standing nearby had not moved—was watching the introductions with a skeptical eye—had he joined up with them, too? "This—oh." Sajantha gestured a bit helplessly. "Ah..."

Edwin's lips curled, far nearer a sneer than a smile. "This charming little fellow is called Korgan."

"I'm Sajantha. Pleased to meet you." 'Pleased' was perhaps a strong word, for everything about the stoutly-muscled man made one wish to take a step back, from the thick fingers twitching towards the throwing axes at his belt and the sharp curve of the large axe strapped to his back, to the grim light in his eyes and the grin that warred with the scar pulling down his lip to gift him a grimace.

"Har!" The dwarf's grin-grimace grew. "Blast be me manners. That be 'Bloodaxe,' to you, girlie. Whether or not ye be requiring a demonstration, ye'll get one soon enough."

Aye, _that_ was easy enough to believe. "Grand."

"Onward then, to honor and glory!" Anomen nearly looked ready to withdraw his sword for a charge forward. "Let us embark upon your valiant quest anon."

With his flat-eyed stare, Edwin appeared entirely unimpressed. "(It seems as if the lout has been studying dialogue from a romance chapbook. Let us see how long he can go before mispronouncing something.)"

Anomen lifted his chin. "It seems you've mistaken me for someone who will put up with your insults, spell-fiddler. I root out darkness in all its forms; do not think to find yourself an exception."

"Darkness?" Edwin repeated, something dark in his own tone, in the way his sharp-nailed fingers curved. "You've seen naught of it, boy. Of us all, I daresay you are the only one unfamiliar with it."

Sajantha hugged her arms.

"Perhaps this excursion will leave you with actual wisdom instilled into your head," Edwin continued. "Or no head at all, I'll not be choosy."

And dark too was the look Anomen threw back as he followed the others out the door.

Edwin shared a glance with her before they stepped outside. "If you wish to assemble an army: please, allow me to do the recruiting."

She raised an eyebrow. " 'Bloodaxe?' "

"This is no time for delicacy, my dear."

"Nor for romance chapbooks, hm?" She shook her head. How had _that_ come into his mind? "Read a few, have you?"

"Of course not." Entirely too dismissive of the idea to even be insulted by it, Edwin almost airily waved it off. Had he _ever_ been in such a good mood? "But I could think of nothing else so appropriate, as it seems we have met the living embodiment of such insubstantial inanity." He held his hand, gesturing after them. " 'Ladies first,' yes?"

* * *

"It's so peaceful here." So long as one didn't mind the clank and creak of Korgan and Anomen's armored steps. But anything outside the carriages and crowds of the city seemed incredibly quiet, and the open air as they neared the Graveyard District, bathed in the scent of flowers, bloomed wonderfully fresh. Marble mausoleums lined the pathways, bright white in the sunlight, but few other buildings—or people—marred the grassy area.

Anomen gave a bemused sort of shrug. But then, he'd not been locked up for months so far from earth and wind. "It gets no more peaceful than the grave."

"I rather miss it, this quiet. Since I've been on the road, it seems like we've been running from one mess to another." 'Twas not as if there was ever time to stop and take it in. How long had it been since she'd taken a stroll through a garden? The light breeze tugged playfully at her hair.

"Where is it you hail from?" In-step with her, Anomen tipped his head closer—though he was not so very much taller than her as Edwin was—as they walked behind the others.

"That makes it sound as if I've a chance at returning." Candlekeep… too difficult to explain. To even think about. "Up near Baldur's Gate."

"If you are relocating to Athkatla, I hope you shall settle upon better quarters than the Coronet." He shook his head. "I fear you may have entirely the wrong idea of our city, confined to a place like that."

"I've been in town less than a tenday,"—(but for beneath it)—"I've not had the time to see much." Nothing outside its underbelly, true enough, for none traversed the slums nor docks without reason. Not that she would have been in the frame of mind to appreciate anything better. Just what here might impress her? Grass, yes, perhaps she could just take off her shoes and lie down a bit…

But not now.

Maybe… maybe there would be time for that later. Imoen (if she was lucky) was still in a cell (and not one of those hanging cages large enough only for a body, barely, metal bars pressing into flesh whichever way one turned).

"You shall have to see the circus, of course; 'tis worth a laugh. Moira—my sister—quite enjoys it." Anomen paused. "I suppose I have spent little time considering what to do for entertainment; my life has been caught between work and battle. The life of a knight-in-training is filled with far more peril than leisure, after all."

"That sounds familiar."

His brow wrinkled. "You have experience with such hardships?"

Traveling up and down the Sword Coast beset by bounty hunters at every turn? "I imagine I've had my share, aye."

His chin rose. Did he not believe her? Or… defensive?

"I'm sure nothing like the sort of grand battles you must have seen in the Order, though." Small things, assassins' daggers in the dark, the subtle infiltration of doppelgangers. No marching armies. (The booming laughter of a madman rising over rivers of blood, an explosion of soldiers splashed red across a wall, a dagger thrust through an uncovered neck, blood splattering upon her face…)

"Ah," he relented. "The gods test us each with trials befitting our stature, and it is a measure of our integrity that we may rise to meet them."

"Stature? I suppose." _Defensive,_ then. "I certainly haven't the strength to haul about such weight as that!" Early afternoon, and nothing to block the sun's strength: Anomen's forehead had already begun to glisten a bit. "That must be so very _heavy._ I can't imagine walking about in that all day, never mind fighting in it!" Her own vest had an enchantment to strengthen it, but remained rather thin.

"Forty pounds." His arms moved back as if to emphasize the size of his breastplate as he shrugged. "We train from a young age to bear the weight. Splint mail is far more flexible than many other types of armor."

"You've been in training since you were a child, then?"

"As soon as I could choose a future for myself, aye."

"I wish I knew what that was like." None of her own choices had ever worked out. Nor would they. What future she saw…

Anomen's lips thinned; his large shoulders shrugged. " 'Tis not so pleasant a tale as you might expect. I cannot say my father is proud of my decision to serve the Order; it has left us at odds the better part of my life."

"I'm sorry. That's… that must be so difficult. I don't know that my father would be very proud of my decisions, either." _Do not go down this path._

"We are here," Edwin announced from the front of the group.

Good—good. No need to think about that, was there, of how she had failed everyone in her life, how the last time she'd seen her father's (not her father's) face, she'd had to stab him through.

Edwin had paused before an above-ground tomb. Nothing remarked it from its neighbors, but—what had he done? For the stone had begun to rumble, leaving an opening—where the grave ought be!—a staircase descended into shadow. Just how deep did it go? If the floor lay in sight, 'twas made of inky black.

"Fear not, my lady," Anomen said in a low voice.

She'd not shivered, had she? (Underground, tunnels, _cold,_ echoes, screams—) Shadows, nothing more. Not reason enough for her heartbeat to quicken.

"Keep your eyes open for traps. I do not believe this route has been made use of in some time." Edwin stood before the entrance. " _Itmen mitne."_ Mage-light illuminated the path: not so terribly deep after all, for the base lay within sight.

"Ah, my favorite part of adventuring." Yoshimo descended first, his voice gaining volume as the depths sent it back around. "All manner of mousetraps surely await our toes in the dark."

"Yer favorite part? Pfeh. I'll be sure to point out when we reach mine." Korgan's bared teeth barely resembled a grin as he gripped his weapon. _Bloodaxe._ As if that required elaboration.

No traps upon the stair, at least, so they made it down with ease. Being beneath the ground—out of the sun—left the air too cool, especially with this ghostly draft rippling through. But Anomen walked behind her and she wasn't such a coward as to indulge another shiver. Shadows… shadows couldn't hurt you (except when they could).

The magic-light reflected off the close curves of the tunnel, leaving a wall of black where it failed to reach 'round a corner. Without Edwin's spell, they'd be immersed in total darkness.

Underground crypts were not exactly high-traffic areas after all, but the stacked-stone walls held ensconced torches for visitors, and a command from Edwin sent them all aflame, marking the end of this lit corridor obvious where the shadows were free to reign.

Yoshimo pulled a torch from the wall and handed it to her. Yes. She wasn't going to be much use aside from a light-bearer, was she? But the weight of the new blade pulled at her hip.

Yoshimo noticed where her attention had fallen. "You collect weapons from unsavory folk with almost the same ease as you collect we unsavory folk to you!" It took a moment to realize what he meant: the dagger he'd lent her, the blade Bloodscalp had rewarded her with (both belted to her) and a moment longer to recognize it as a joke. "It is good you have at last found some reputable company to balance us out, yes?" He grinned. "A cleric of the _Watcher!_ I must watch myself most closely, then."

A smile tugged onto Sajantha's lips. "I don't think he'll—"

"What you must do," Edwin turned around to correct, "is perform the task you were included for: watching for _traps._ (Do not think we included you for these feeble attempts at wit.)"

"Others have that covered far better than I, no doubt! _Wakarimashita."_ Yoshimo gave a half-bow before starting forward. "I will be watching most closely, fear not."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but Edwin must have elected to ignore the other man's little dig, for he appeared far more interested in the area they stepped into: their tunnel opened up into the expanse of a shadowy cavern around them; this time 'twas the _ceiling_ which darkness swallowed from sight. Just how high was it—how deep had they gone?

"Darkness." Korgan, at least, lacked respect for the quiet. "Good fer stalking, an' having yer way with a lass. Heh..."

Anomen's voice rose behind her: "Watch your tongue in the presence of a lady, you filthy cur."

"His tongue is no filthier than the rest of him." Edwin's voice was as indifferent as Anomen's had been disgusted. " 'Tis that bile-soaked stench which is the worse to bear, if you must be offended by something."

"To such delicate pansy-sniffers as you, mayhap. Shut yer yaps, and let's get along to the looting!"

"Looting?" Anomen repeated. "You brought me along to aid in _grave-robbing?"_

A frown crossed Edwin's face. "What did you suppose we were going to accomplish? Your own stupidity is to blame for thinking otherwise."

"I…" Anomen shot Sajantha a look.

Gods! Why did the light have to be right by her _face—_ she couldn't even pretend not to have seen him—though he looked away before she'd figured out how to assemble an apologetic expression.

Yoshimo shrugged. "Nothing laying about belongs to anyone living; who can this offend?"

"The _gods?_ " Anomen had mercifully turned his disapproval upon the rest of them.

"How could ye resist, all these riches ripe for the plucking? Don't tell us yer getting cold feet, kid. Is it the hive of undead what be throwing ye off, or the thought of rolling in strands of gold?" The dwarf made a disgusted sound. "This one don't be looking like he takes the time to enjoy life's simple pleasures."

"He certainly does not," Edwin agreed, "though we cannot all be so 'simple' as you, Korgan."

"Pfeh." The dwarf's low rasp echoed far louder than Edwin's quiet tones. "I know what matters in life, the things what get the blood running: me axe in one hand, an ale in the other, and a lass in me lap."

"Do you speak figuratively, or literally? Spreading your attentions so thin is detrimental to all; a proper performance requires far greater focus than this."

"Aye, no need to worry about me focus; I know just where to put me attention. Though the holes I like to be exploring are a good deal warmer than this one, if ye get me!" He chuckled.

"Yes, Korgan," Edwin sounded just short of a sigh, "given the context that is rather difficult to misinterpret. One supposes you barrel forward with the same heedless lack of subtlety in bed, as well."

"Oh, I know me way around, make no mistake. Some caves be worth mapping out, eh?"

Neck hot, Sajantha tried to tune out their voices and turned to Anomen; he appeared nearly as uncomfortable as she.

But he wouldn't even look at her. "I confess I was altogether misinformed… about a great deal of things." His voice was stiff.

"I—no! It's not like that. I never…" Why had she ever said _anything?_

They'd passed into another tunnel. Yoshimo's careful scouting left their pace slow, their measured steps reinforcing the expectant air of the tombs. And the expectant air of Anomen, awaiting her answer.

She took a breath. "It's for Imoen, all of this. The first step to rescuing her is gathering a rather obscene amount of gold, I'm afraid."

"And you lack honest means to do so?"

"I…" What sort of jobs did knights in shining armor normally sign on for? "This isn't the sort of adventure usually found in tales, I suppose." Not that it had been _before_ this, either.

"I've never been on an adventure as glamorous as the tales make them sound. 'Tis dirt and blood and danger. Yet honor and glory always, beneath the banner of the Order. This…" Anomen shook his head.

"I've never exactly understood honor or glory." A justification—an excuse—for all manner of violence, but so long as the proper god approved…

"If you hang about with this sort, it is small wonder, my lady. Rather… unusual company you've surrounded yourself with." However much he tried not to grimace, he couldn't hide the question.

Even still he tried so hard to be polite! Surely they made the oddest assortment of folk. "I suppose so. I've rather lost touch with what's normal, of late."

"You should take care." He frowned at the close walls of the passage. "Such men are not to be trusted."

And just what did he mean by that? "What sort of men do you speak of? I do not believe you know any of them."

His voice lashed out, quick: "And you do? Pardon, my lady—" he lost his sharp tone— "I know it's not my place. But I would not see you taken advantage of."

"Edwin will keep them in line."

"Edwin? The _wizard_." His eyes narrowed.

"That's right; you Athkatlans have little love of magic, don't you." The Cowled Wizards had made that clear enough.

"Magic?" he repeated, eyebrows high. "Tell me where in the Realms there is love for _Red Wizards_."

"Fear is so much more useful." Edwin's voice rose directly behind them: "Shall I demonstrate why?"

Anomen, to his credit, did not jump, though his urge to do so had not gone unnoticed, by Edwin's smirk.

"Your pointless observations may actually prove of use upon the front line; perhaps your nearsightedness will not hamper you so much there." He waved Anomen off, then looked down at Sajantha as he matched her stride.

She shook her head. "What?" Just how had he maneuvered behind them, anyway?

"He will not be with us long; there is little use in befriending him. (Why she should even wish to is another matter.) Do not waste your time."

"Don't tell me what to do with my time." As if he cared! "I'm already along on your little outing—just why is this artifact so important to you, anyway?" And it was—it _was—_ so much more than aught else she'd seen him speak of, a thought that sat strangely heavy.

He stared down the hall ahead of them. "You may as well know, now: I have located one of the lost Nether Scrolls."

"You–" Sajantha missed a step, reaching out to steady herself against his arm; the torch jumped with her, though Edwin did not shy back. "You're serious? You actually—you really—? No! _Here?_ "

His small smile answered for him.

"A _Nether_ Scroll! Wow." To find such a fabled thing…

"Indeed."

"I suppose that explains your good mood." With so little of the edginess that had marked his manner when last they'd traveled… of course a find like this would have to raise his spirits. The find of a lifetime! No— _dozens_ of lifetimes! That… aye. That was worth getting excited over.

His smile had only grown. "I have been awaiting this moment for some time."

"How'd you ever track it down! I never thought to actually see something like that." Even with all the wonders she'd grown up with in the library, such a find was beyond priceless. "Gods! Bring it to Candlekeep, and they'd give you an honorary membership." A Nether Scroll! Thousands of years old—scripted by the ancients, used to build the wonders of the greatest magical empire in history—only a handful were rumored to still exist; they'd as good as vanished off the face of the Faerûn.

"It will not be leaving my side." A shadow crossed Edwin's brow; how light he must have been before, for how much suspicion now darkened his face.

Her heart sank. "You look as though you believe I'd try to wrest it from you."

"You are welcome to make the attempt." An instinctive reply, for how fast it flew free, but only a bit of him was joking, if he was at all; tension sat heavy on his frame as he crossed his arms.

"Don't be ridiculous." Could he truly think that of her? "I prefer to keep what's left of me in one piece, thank you."

His gaze flicked down to her chest.

Her clothing hid her scar—she'd made sure of it!—but the reminder was enough to heat her face, her eyes; she ducked her head, sped her steps away.

"Sajantha." Always commanding, that voice, but just enough warning beneath its demand to give her pause. "Someone else is taking care of traps; your assistance is not required triggering them."

She reined in her steps, arms folded, ears afire. Edwin did not need so many strides to catch up, but he didn't close the distance, remaining a pace behind her. As if that might alleviate the awkwardness of their silence.

And silent it was, for all the space; the towering ceilings of the cavern gave their footsteps plenty of room to echo, but all the air above them was weighted, a reminder of the city far overhead. Stone after stone, grave after grave, each footstep more leaden than the last as they descended, but the heavy air only grew thinner. She hugged her arms tighter.

Edwin cleared his throat. "I have been surrounded by all manner of knaves and thieves these last months."

"Oh?" What was this—an explanation? An apology? "Better company than I had, I'm sure."

"Hn," he said. Just enough time passed for her to turn to see what held his tongue: he looked almost thoughtful. "Perhaps so."

She faced forward again, but this time he stepped up beside her. "Happy to be out of there, then?"

"Quite." He reached into his sleeve. "Here. Be careful with this."

"You're giving it back?" The wand rested gingerly in her hands. "I'd thought you feared me to use it against you or something."

"Did you? Just how suspicious do you suppose I am?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Ah." His mouth twitched. "With you? Surely not."

A smile grew inside her, a little warmth, as her fingers played on the wand. "Are you saying you trust me after all?"

"I trust you are not so entirely stupid as to start a fight you cannot finish."

"Mm." Surely that counted for something. She tucked the wand into her belt. "Do you expect I'll need it down here?"

Shadows flickered over his face as they passed beneath another torch-light, too fast to tell his expression. "Better to have it and not need it."

"In that case, you've some other wands that might better bear sharing." She bumped his arm.

His brow lifted. "How quickly she grows grabby! Think you to help yourself to my personal arsenal?"

"I'm trying to be practical."

"If you truly wished to help, you'd find out how to harness your magic properly."

"I..." She clutched her stomach. "It's gone."

A line grew between his eyebrows as he faced forward. "Then perhaps your efforts would be better focused upon keeping yourself out of the way. Try not to injure yourself from the sidelines."

No reason to respond to that dismissive sneer. "Out of the way of what—just what do you think's down here?" The mood in the cavern was predictably creepy, nurturing a silence as weighty as the stone above them. Even her whisper seemed to remain hovering above their heads in accompaniment to their shuffling footsteps.

"Going by the yards of decorative webbing and the sound of hundreds of skittering legs... I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps if you applied half your brain to the task, you might enlighten us yourself."

Sajantha shot a look over her shoulder. There _was_ a rather large tangle of webs strung behind them; how had she missed it? "Hundreds?" But it was almost a relief to have the tickling fingers up her back be caused by something so mundane.

Edwin gave her a sideways glance as she brushed against him. "A hundred divided by eight is not so very many."

"Don't you dare say, 'ladies first.' "

He made an impolite noise. "Is the tin can you've collected good for so little? Throw the honor his way, I say, if he is truly so desperate to chase it."

Anomen stood not far ahead, having already claimed the vanguard, and gazed up at the webs along the walls. "Spiders," he announced. "The large, venomous sort, but we shall keep them well in hand. Stay close, my lady."

"The girlie's a-feared of spiders, is she?" The dwarf's nasty grin somehow made the prospect more alarming than it had been. "They'll fall to an axe in the belly, same as anything."

Sajantha crossed her arms. "I'm not afraid of them. Precisely." 'Twas not as if she cared for them, though.

" 'Twould take a blood-crazed fiend to be looking forward to such an encounter, truly," Edwin said. "An inconvenience, nothing more." He shared a look with her. "(Though I have heard a well-placed cow will do wonders.)"

"Your aim is better than mine." That wild surge that crushed the two giant Cloakwood spiders chasing her had left her drenched in the gore of an exploded cow, had left her trembling in horror. Such a thing, to have once so unnerved her!

"So it is," he agreed. "Stay close, yes... but not _too_ close."

* * *

They'd spent several minutes crossing the cavern and it would likely take several more, for the shadows that waited at the edges of their light-source kept the scope of the place from sight. Shadows that... _moved?_

Sound erupted around them, chittering and chattering, as dozens of feet clicked across stone; red eyes glinted as they entered the circle of light which revealed what the moving shadows had only hinted at: bulbous bodies atop shining sleek legs—so many, so long!—swarmed together, and their overlapping noise rose to a clattering as the monstrous spiders closed in and Korgan and Anomen jumped to meet them.

 _Not too close,_ Edwin had told her, and Sajantha could almost see what would happen before it did: the way he'd raise his arms, cloak billowing backward as his fingers traced glyphs upon the air, his hands blazing fire—

Something struck her, near knocked her from her feet with its sudden force: wings buffeted against her with the tug of small claws— _Raviwr!_ —the imp's drive kept Sajantha stepping back, 'til she collided with stone. Ah! An alcove, there—he was herding her towards it—she climbed into the indented space just as an oily liquid bubbled past in a shining flood across the floor.

 _Grease._

And the clicking sound of sharp limbs advancing changed to duller thumps as the spiders surely slid—but metal sounded, too!—had the others had been caught in Edwin's spell?

There was shouting and hissing—and a voice rising clear and unperturbed above all the noise— " _Marfedelom ini ixen!"_

Another spell, of course he'd wasted no time readying another spell—and no doubt as to what it would be—Sajantha ducked, stone pressing against her as the wall of flame roared past. The heat from her torch seemed to strengthen though 'twas the air outside which caught fire; she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing farther back into the recess as the blast blew by.

And, then… silence.

Real worry pulsed within her, more than had prompted her forced retreat. "Raviwr!" He'd pushed her out of the way! To 'the sidelines.' Just as Anomen had found her, cowering back: the warmth on her face bloomed from inside her, now. What had _happened?_ The others—! Sword in hand, she darted around the imp.

Raised voices and a blackened battlefield awaited her. A string of colorful profanity streamed from the dwarf as magic streamed from Anomen: light glowed around the cleric's gauntlets as he finished healing. Healing the _fire's_ damage, for the spiders hadn't ever reached them; several arachnids' bodies lay scattered as empty husks, still a formidable size even dried-out. No, no spiders had been left alive, but Korgan and Anomen's armor had quite certainly been singed.

Yoshimo hopped down from another indented recess across her; at least his ranged weapon had kept him out of the blast radius, though he hardly appeared happy, and his grip was tight on his bow.

Edwin's attention remained focused upon the creatures—some limbs still twitched—he only turned when Raviwr flew to land upon his shoulder.

Sajantha let out a breath and returned her sword to its sheathe—quite a feat, one-handed!—it took her a try or two.

In the outer edge of the charred circle, Anomen's anger practically sparked from him, barely held in check behind his clenched teeth. "Do not think to try that again, wizard: Helm grants me spells of mine own against vermin like you. You may very well find yourself in the midst of such a one."

Korgan spat on the floor, a crude echo of Anomen's reproof. "Watch that spell-slinging, mage, or I'll have yer head _afore_ we're through."

Their words did nothing to stifle Edwin's satisfaction; he gave a careless shrug and Raviwr disappeared. "Threatening a Red Wizard, is it? Doubly foolish to announce your intentions. I would be more wary were I you, lest you find your next brush with my spellwork far less incidental."

A scowl had grooved lines unto Anomen's face, and as he struggled for a good reply—or to contain a worse one—his clenched hands shook.

"Are you alright, Anomen?" Sajantha touched the back of his arm; he turned towards her and loosed his fists.

He gave his head a shake and ran his hand across his eyes, leaving a smudged trail of soot. "I've not the energy to keep this up if I must guard my back as well as my front."

If Yoshimo was similarly upset, he hid it far better than did Korgan with that low growl, but this… this could not end well.

"Edwin," Sajantha fell into step beside him as the rest returned to the front of the procession, "surely a spellcaster as talented as yourself could moderate your magic in the future, to ah, avoid harming our friends…"

"('Friends!' Do her delusions never cease?)" Edwin frowned at her. "You wish me to censor myself as well? I warn you: I am after results; I'll not hold myself back forever."

"Edwin."

 _"What."_

"You know what I'm going to say." As if his snapping tone had not given that away.

"I am infinitely more efficient alone. They should stay out of my way; the rest of them only hinder me." His eyes narrowed at the three men ahead in collective disapproval.

"You're the one who extended an invitation to Korgan."

"He amuses me." Edwin raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted back towards her. "What is your excuse for bringing along the pompous windbag?"

"I seem to have a rather high tolerance for them, don't I?"

Several expressions warred upon Edwin's face—one of which was certainly disbelief—was he struggling _not_ to scowl, or struggling _to_ scowl?

"And exceedingly poor judgment, as you don't miss any chance to inform me. Shall I keep going?"

"You are joking." He must have decided this was forgivable, for he'd let it pass, though his gaze gained scrutiny. "You seem… different."

"Do I?" She felt it, too, a little lighter, something warm enough to keep away the darkness. "Maybe it has to do with… how safe I feel."

"You feel safe in these undead-ridden, spider-infested tombs." His voice was wry.

"Some people, I mean. Some people make me feel safe." What else could explain it, that walking with them down a haunted tunnel might be less terrifying than something so simple as being left alone in her room? Like other people could be a buffer against the dark. (Against thinking of Khalid's body inside-out any time she looked at Jaheira and he wasn't there—) She pressed her lips tight together.

"Hn. I suppose a muscle-ridden cretin encased in layers of metal would serve as a sturdy enough wall to hide behind."

"Not just him."

An eyebrow rose. "The dwarf? I should stay out of range of his splash zone were I you; I do not expect his peripheral vision is especially developed. Nor his tolerance for other life forms."

"Maybe I meant… Raviwr."

The imp materialized, peeking around Edwin's shoulder.

"Ah. The imp, of course." Edwin waved him off. "Verily, he is a pillar of strength and courage fit to inspire even the most timid of mortals."

"Verily."

Was that a hint of a smile upon his face? But his gaze cast out around them, gaining intensity. "We are getting close."

* * *

=E=

The next ambush had been better thought-out—if one could ascribe such tactics to the savage antics of beasts—spiders dropped in from above with a dripping rain of venom, and a wave of foes below already skittered forward.

A blast of magic (a pity 'fire' was not so very appropriate for targets positioned straight above oneself) broke their webbing and flung the dangling attackers back far enough to tangle with—or be trampled by—the ground assault.

Not _all_ spiders, either. But few other creatures would lurk about with such company, and the ettercaps with their spider-like faces blended well-enough, even if those swollen purple bodies walked upright, taller than all present but he.

The words to a fireball had risen to Edwin's tongue (more than effective enough to wipe out the mob of them), but… perhaps 'twas time to watch what the others could do; they'd been brought along to deal with the grunt work, after all: melee fighters would certainly prove of use in battle with the lich, but they may as well take an opportunity to demonstrate their worth now (especially if Sajantha insisted upon critiquing his methods).

Bellowing out a cry, the dwarf wasted no time living up to his name and flung himself into the swarm, his flashing axe cutting a swathe as he snapped through limbs like cracking twigs. An ettercap towered two feet over him—apparently the perfect height for Korgan's purposes—with a spray of red and stink of offal, the creature's distended white belly split open, and spilt across the ground; on the down-arc, the dwarf's swing sheared off half of an oncoming spider's legs before a spin drove the weapon up into the arachnid's abdomen. Hm. Quite effective. If incredibly messy.

The twang of the rogue's bowstring and the squire's grunting named them both busy as well, but the creatures' emergence from the shadows appeared to have slowed; they were in no danger of being overrun. Being _poisoned_ was another matter. One of them had better thought to bring antidotes, for surely they could not expect him to share.

"Very funny." The voice at his side was familiar, if a bit mocking. "This is the game where you stand back and do nothing after I ask you to watch yourself?"

A smirk pulled on Edwin's lips. Far different than the desperate tone of when this last had occurred, but this was no mage they faced (and even this motley assortment could handle a handful of these creatures). Nor was there any point to exerting himself when his strength was best saved for Nevaziah. "I find myself enjoying the show." They stood far enough back to have an excellent view, for the front-line fighters had gone to meet the next waves of the assault, and the rogue and his bow remained nicely within sight.

Another spider exploded in gore in Korgan's wake, and one more fell, bristling with arrows, as the squire pulled his sword free.

Edwin glanced down at Sajantha, who stood with her sword out. "What reason have you to play spectator?"

"They…" Her blade dipped towards the ground. "They don't need my help."

This again? As when she'd forced everyone else to do the work at the start of last year instead of embracing her magic—bah! A return to that passive state, was it? After she had slain a _Bhaalspawn!_ Edwin grit his teeth. "You are exactly as useless as you imagine you are."

One of the creatures was close enough to reach: _"Ixen erekess."_ The fire-bolt thrummed through his fingers, connecting to its target with a rush, and Edwin stretched out his arm to seize the weave before it dissipated: cracks through the ettercap glowed as its insides smoldered hotter to white. The pulse in his head pounded harder, an echo of his frustration, for each second this stretched on, but he kept grip upon the spell, squeezing, 'til red burst free of the cracks and the creature fell in pieces to the ground.

Releasing a heavy breath as he released the spell, Edwin unclenched his hand only to find Sajantha staring at him with—what? What was this look? _Pfeh._ (Empowering a spell would no doubt have been effortless on her part.) Jaw tight, he turned away to survey the rest of the scene _:_ the last ettercap lay with three arrows protruding—two, as the rogue began to collect them—and the remaining spiders lay in nearly unrecognizable segments, a dwarf leaning heavily upon an axe beside them. Korgan's face was tinged rather green (though perhaps 'twas due to the juices covering him rather than being poisoned. Ugh).

Oh. And the Helmite. He'd crossed the battlefield, only sheathing his blade upon reaching them. "Are you alright?"

The squire asked _Sajantha?_ She'd remained out of range the entire time. Indeed, she appeared rather taken aback as well, as if unsure what answer such an idiotic question deserved. "I'm... I'm fine, aye." And she smiled. "The rest of you are well? That was quite a battle!"

"It was nothing, my lady. I—"

" 'Twas nothing, you say," Edwin cut him off, gesturing as he moved towards their exit. "And we've no time to waste." Not so near as this!

As if reading his mind, Sajantha spoke up: "You said we were getting close, right?"

Edwin turned around at the touch on his sleeve: with all those in much sturdier armor behind her, Sajantha looked even more under-geared. And she could not—or would not!—cast aught to protect herself? The last thing he needed was to lose the conduit this plan rested upon! "Keep to the back." If her spells could not help, distance must, though this needed be a short-term remedy.

Facing the next tunnel, he allowed the others to catch up: before them awaited doors half-hidden behind a sweep of crumbling stone, their corners submerged in dirt and dust. The patterns engraved upon their rough surface looked mostly decorative in nature, not that they'd time to waste attempting to translate anything (nor was there need to check his notes): this was assuredly the right path.

A path which would first need be cleared—a sure sign none had disturbed the tombs within in years—and while there could very well be other entrances to the tombs with the number of twisting tunnels in this place, best assume any traps remained intact.

 _Close._ Edwin ran his fingers over the vial of lichbane in his pocket. A hefty price, that, but 'twould be worth it; whatever it cost to reach his goal would matter not.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Wakarimashita [Japanese *cough* Kozakuran - formal past tense of 'understand'] ~ "I understand now that you have explained it to me." No doubt delivered tongue-in-cheek. xD  
_

 _Lichbane is a 'positoxin' (an alchemical substance distilled from holy water and laced with positive energy that causes permanent ability drain). Basically 'poisons' for undead... interesting stuff! (Lichbane targets undead spellcasters' stats specifically.)  
_

 _I did update /add to a lot of it, but "the tombs"—this chapter and the next—was one of the very first sections I wrote way-back-when, which may or may not be obvious. ;P So definitely remark if you see anything amiss!_

 _As always, thank youuuu to those who are following/fave-ing/commenting; I really do need it for motivation, hehe! And I've already learned a lot and changed quite a bit here and there (and gotten more ideas! :D) with your feedback, so I appreciate anything you point out. ^^_


	10. Student of Death

=S=

 _Keep to the back._

Well. That was easy enough. When Edwin in his eagerness kept to the front, directing the dwarf's strength into dismantling the grand door in their path and the stones blocking it. Wouldn't magic accomplish that far faster? Though perhaps Edwin was saving his strength; he'd not have waited for a group to accompany him unless he expected danger. But then again, when did he _not_ expect danger?

Holding in a sigh, Sajantha turned to the others. While they waited, Anomen had taken it upon himself to guard what constituted their 'campsite'—the range of Edwin's mage-lights—and stood watch with his back to them. She ought to speak with him, make sure he was alright; he'd been so quiet! But of course he couldn't be having a good time at all, when the only good thing about this trip was the possibility of riches, after all: likely no piles of honor or glory to stumble across here.

Beside her in their little island of mage-light, Yoshimo sat cross-legged against the remains of a rune-engraved pillar; he uncapped a bottle and shuddered while he sipped, but seemed to perk up afterward. An antidote for the venom the spiders had been spitting? The shape of the glass was different, but the dark coloring looked very like the ones they sold up north, and it appeared to have the same bitter taste, for Yoshimo smacked his lips, then wiped his mouth with a bit of a grimace before he reached again into his pack.

He saw her looking, for he held out the folded envelope he'd withdrawn. "Are you hungry?"

For _that?_ Just what was in his hand? She knelt beside him for a closer look and slid free one of the sheets tucked inside. "It's… you eat it?" Like parchment, though both darker and thinner, and with a translucent shine to it, but surely nothing edible came in such a form: "It looks like paper!"

"It is made in much the same way, yes. _Wasabi nori._ Roasted seaweed." He folded a dark green strip into his mouth with something between a crinkle and a crunch.

"From Kozakura?" The seaweed made a decidedly paper-like sound as she touched it. This was _food?_ Amusement pulled a smile onto her face; Yoshimo was unwrapping another with gusto. She set it gingerly on her tongue. Paper-like, perhaps, but it served admirably as a vessel for this rush of flavors, the salty tang quickly stole the moisture from her mouth as it softened into a more palatable texture. "Oh!"

"What do you think?" Yoshimo asked after he'd chewed. "If you like it, you may have the rest."

"It's so strange! But the spices on it… aye." Strong enough to brighten up her other senses, almost. She took another, copying Yoshimo and folding the entire thing into her mouth at once; it quickly shrank and softened. "Thank you." Food, aye, but something almost _fun_ to it. She reached again into the envelope, pausing as a shadow fell over them.

"Edwin!" Had they managed to prise the door open—or did he wish something else? Sajantha hopped up to her feet, hand outstretched. "You ought to try this."

" 'Try?' " It took a moment for him to work out her intention, though he still retained an air of disbelief: "You expect me to _eat_ this?" Edwin's eyes narrowed as his gaze slid towards Yoshimo a moment, correctly identifying its source.

"Or you could always test it for poison," she pointed out. "You seem to enjoy doing that."

His glower didn't quite agree.

"It's spicy, too; I _know_ you like that." The meal he'd once conjured for them—a Thayvian cuisine of some kind, grape leaves stuffed with the smooth flavors of a rice blend punctuated with chili peppers—had certainly been spicy, never mind the red sauce over it!

"It's good: see?" She demonstrated, in case he needed proof the green 'paper' was edible.

Edwin shook his head, crossing his arms. "Do not be a fool. We've wasted time enough sitting about."

The seaweed seemed to have sucked the moisture from her, leaving a lump difficult to swallow down.

"It will take another few minutes before the entrance is uncovered, no?" Yoshimo's question sounded more a reminder that the work was not yet done.

"Cannae get this door open meself, wizard!" Korgan's rough growl of a voice jarred the quiet cavern. "Ye goin'ta chuck a spell over here, or did ye blow yer load early?"

Edwin's nostrils flared, and he turned around without reply. Well, not a reply to _them,_ but he snapped at the dwarf: "I know how to pace myself, you contemptuous cretin; if you have so little energy yourself, you'd best save your breath (for they are surely numbered)." He stood with his back to them a moment before striding back to the ancient doorway.

"Perhaps try the dwarf next, hm?" Yoshimo raised his eyebrows in question, and in answer, Sajantha folded another piece into her mouth.

"Thanks for sharing with me." Perhaps she'd offer some to Anomen, though he appeared to be intently watching the dark while mage-lights glittered across the back of his armor.

Yoshimo gave a deep nod, already pulling other rations from his bag. "The markets of Athkatla are splendid and varied; perhaps I may unearth more such treats of my homeland for you to sample."

"I'd like that." But her smile fell as she turned away, thoughts of cost biting like a cloud of gnats about her head. _Don't think about that._ Better focus on the spicy tang that commanded all the attention of her tongue.

"Some you will like more than others, I'm sure." Yoshimo chuckled behind her.

The cool air flickered through her torch as she neared Anomen. The sparks from their fire sent shadows playing over his face and illuminated the bristles encroaching at the border of his beard.

Unlike Edwin, who kept his jawline bare but for those braided moustaches and the close-cropped hair upon his chin, Anomen's beard grew all the way 'round, as well as the shorter stubble on his cheeks where it must have had at least a day or two to escape its grooming. Probably if he grew it any thicker it would begin to curl like his wavy hair.

(Her hair had been that way once, spiraling as if with wild energy—surely her most notable feature without counting her eyes—but both seemed to have lessened of late, all flat and weak and fading when she looked in the mirror. What did that mean about the rest of her?)

The light had likely given her away—she placed it on the ground, where it sputtered a moment—and Anomen turned slightly towards her as she reached his side.

"I'm awfully sorry to be dragging you along." This wasn't the right place for him, not at all. "I want to apologize, but I'd rather just thank you for coming with us; I'm glad you did." Despite what Edwin thought, more assistance would only help them, not hinder them!

Anomen still hadn't spoken, and Sajantha's feet shifted before stepping forward. "I hope you're doing alright." Skilled he may be with dealing with spiders, but dealing with Thayvians was another matter. "Did you bring anything to sup upon?"

He responded then with only a shrug, attention returning to scan the dark cavern around them as if there were aught to see; even infravision wouldn't pick up the cold bodies of arachnids or undead. "I've walked far longer hours with naught in my stomach. 'Tis only a heaviness that will slow me down."

"You could try these," she touched his arm with one hand and held out the package with the other, "they're quite light. And strangely filling."

He turned towards her fully, then, with a look of no little skepticism—except in comparison to Edwin's—but he obliged and took one of the sheets. And quickly began to cough, though the hand he held up to cover his 'cough' very likely ended up holding pieces of the seaweed within it.

"I'm sorry!" Sajantha held her hand up to her mouth, too, trying to hide any amusement. "You don't like it?"

He took a moment to answer while he sipped from his canteen. "I… I fear I do not care especially for food that tastes of the sea." Almost as if he feared to offend her, so carefully did he speak. But at least he was speaking. "Strange for living here, I know."

"Tell me what sort of things you _do_ like. Would you?" she prompted, for he'd opened his mouth only to close it, then raked a hand through his hair. "Come, I'd best not make this mistake again, aye?" Perhaps a smile would help prod him.

He still appeared as he shifted his feet, but after another moment of hesitation, he revealed his answer. "Sweeter things, mostly; I've a terrible fondness for cakes." And as if this was the closest he'd shown to any not-so-proper behavior, he almost looked embarrassed—or guilty, somehow!—as though he awaited some judgment; perhaps knights were not to admit to something so sweetly non-heroic-sounding.

"You'd get along well with Imoen, then!" She'd never missed a chance to swipe from Winthrop's cream-puff cakes, prompting the innkeep to call his batches not a baker's dozen but a snitch's dozen, numbering fourteen.

The almost-smile that had risen sat stiffly on her face.

"I should like to meet her." Anomen must have noticed her sudden silence, for he scratched at his beard as if searching for words to fill the space. "Blackbread—have you had it? 'Tis a specialty here: dark molasses. It's, ah… quite good."

"That does sound delicious."

"Sybarr Spices has a quality recipe; I always stop by one of their stalls to purchase a loaf when I've a chance. Perhaps you'd like to try it?"

"A regional specialty, hm?" Probably she should try more of such things. Finally out in the world—all the things to see and touch and taste!—yet nothing tempted her half so much as it ought. "That sounds quite nice, aye."

His smile did much to relax his face, his whole bearing. "When we are out of here, then."

And so Anomen had apparently joined the list of people trying to get her to eat. Or perhaps the list wasn't all _people:_ had the soup the night before been Edwin's idea, or Raviwr's? She glanced back to the doors: the red-robed figure cut the air with sharp motions as he directed Korgan—and recruited Yoshimo over, too. They'd made some progress at least, but evidently not fast enough for Edwin's taste.

Anomen noticed her gaze. "How exactly did you become involved with these…" He trailed off, gesturing. "Well." Yes, that was a pause that could be filled with all manner of things best left alone, wasn't it?

Sajantha stared at her lap. "It's a rather long story." If she'd tripped up telling the _first_ part of the tale to Yoshimo last night, how could she manage the rest of it?

"Ah." Did he realize she was evading the topic? "We've not the time before your slave-driver returns, you mean." He'd not lifted his gaze from where the others worked at the doorway.

But that wasn't any better to place blame upon, if they all needed to get along. "Edwin's not so bad. He just gets rather focused on things, is all."

 _My lover was always like that, too._ The breathy voice of the woman last night rose in Sajantha's ears, that coy smirk almost visible. _It was nice when it was me._

The _dead_ woman (red flesh and clumps of thick ash they stepped over as Jaheira led Sajantha down the hall).

Her mouth went dry.

Someone was talking, but the noise in her head pulsed far louder.

Don't think of that, of dead bodies (of live ones strapped to tables), of Mae'Var (of lovers)—none of these thoughts fit together and her breath was coming faster and faster darkness creeping at the edges of her vision—

A hand was out—oh! Anomen. His canteen. Good, good. She gulped down water faster than what was surely polite. Or ladylike.

"Thanks." She handed it back, then wiped at her mouth. Which surely wasn't ladylike either—but she hadn't a handkerchief just as she hadn't a canteen of her own. (What _did_ she have? Scars and holes—a dagger—)

"Ye think it's a swell time to laze about 'n cluck like chickens?" Korgan's voice rose behind them, just as gruff and grim as usual, but somehow a relieving distraction. "Pfeh! Ye witlings had better shut yer yaps and open yer eyes; we be ready to go."

"The broadening of our acquaintance must be moved to another time, it seems." Anomen paused. "That is… if you wish to."

And why not? There wasn't anything he could figure out, not just by looking; he only knew what she'd shown him. That should be comforting, shouldn't it? She put on a smile as she rose to her feet. "Right."

Sure enough, the doors had been opened—though one stood not-quite-straight—and the faintest brush of red disappeared through the other side _._ Yoshimo must have gone on ahead where Edwin bade him scout, because—for this moment—she and Anomen were the only ones left, the shadows darkening around them.

 _Keep to the back._

At least Anomen didn't mind walking with her; he remained beside her as she reclaimed her torch and they caught up.

This side of the grand doors looked far less a cavern and far more purposeful in design, even if the winding tunnels still felt like the burrowed swathes of great creatures beneath the ground, like the ankheg nest they'd once explored. But hopefully there would be something more welcome at the end of it.

Another battle with spiders hardly assuaged that notion, but this encounter went better than those before, with Edwin restraining himself to a single-target spell; each of them focused upon an individual spider—though Sajantha only helped slice off a leg of one running at Yoshimo—so there was at least an illusion of teamwork, if nothing else. At least _while_ they were fighting: after, Edwin made it clear whom was in charge as he chose their path.

How did he know just where to go? The halls had split more than once, yet he never so much as paused. Or perhaps he didn't have any idea at all, and would appear just as confident as he made the worst decision possible, leading them into who-knew-what. But the worst they'd encountered thus far were the creeping things that had moved in to live with the dead.

They'd reached the crypts. Cut into the walls, shelves and indentations were filled with dusty remains, little of the deceased recognizable but for the stacks of skulls staring out when torchlight caught their hollowed eyes.

"This is the way, I just knows it." Korgan smacked his lips eagerly, spider venom again fresh on his axe. "Bloody old, it be."

And truly it seemed a much older area, the air itself stale. Death, but dried out. Whether from Edwin losing focus on the mage-lights or the torch-fuel fading, the darkness even seemed to deepen as they walked. _Had_ he lost focus? For their marching order had shuffled again—he'd allowed Korgan to take the lead—and if Yoshimo kept up his gentle ribbing of Anomen's dueling techniques against 'sword spiders,' perhaps she could…

Sajantha slipped to Edwin's side. Staring forward, his attention seemed all for the tunnel before them, with little to spare. What had changed to lose his lighter mood?

"You were so… so _excited,_ earlier." Now what was he? "Are you worried?"

"I am attending to the task at hand." He spoke without looking at her. "As you should be."

 _"Ed_ win—!" She gave his arm a tug. "You've almost got your hands on one of the _Nether_ Scrolls! Gods, I'd be—I'd be dancing in the streets!"

"Is that so?" He at last glanced down at her, though his expression matched his tone: somewhere between mocking and disbelieving. Gods! Might there not be an idiom in Mulhorandi to match that phrase? Perhaps he was actually picturing it _literally_ —and not especially flatteringly—for the way he was looking at her.

"I…" She swallowed, dropping her hand and holding it up to her forehead instead. "I don't know. Um…" Think of something else, some way to bring that back around—something that might flummox _him—_ "Romance chapbooks!"

Edwin's eyes narrowed a bit, but more perplexed than vexed.

"Just how do you know about them, hm? If you've not read them." Surely they didn't carry such things in any Red Wizard library, so he couldn't have _casually_ encountered them.

"Ah." His face smoothed out, and his voice sounded unperturbed. So even that wasn't enough to catch him off-balance! "Raviwr on occasion entertains himself by bringing me unsolicited reading material. (Imagine my horror upon learning 'twas but one amongst an entire genre.)"

 _"Horror?_ That's an awfully strong word." Certainly when his tone remained flat the entire time; it was more than a bit difficult to imagine that which might be enough to horrify him.

The flap of wing-beats signaled Raviwr's appearance even before he chirped, "Master open it, he did!"

Edwin shook off his familiar with a shudder. " 'The Priestess of Kossuth and the Crimson Pillar.' ( _Entirely_ misleading. That one should think to so disrespect the Firelord truly reflects the astounding absence of intellect it takes to pen such nonsense in the first place.)"

"Mm." She stifled her smile behind her hand, biting down on her lip. _Thayvian_ romance chapbooks, even! Just what exactly constituted romance there? There were far too few books from Thay in Candlekeep, anyway; she'd have remembered stumbling across such a one. Pity he surely hadn't kept it...

"What?" He spoke as if either unsure as to what was so amusing, or possibly uncertain as to just where her laughter was directed.

"It's just funny imagining, is all." Upon realizing the nature of the book, might Edwin have recoiled physically? Outright thrown it? Yelled at his familiar? Or… might he perhaps have laughed, too? _Master always cranky,_ Raviwr had once said.

"I expect this is why the imp picked it, yes." Edwin certainly did not look at all cranky now. Gods, why couldn't there always be priceless artifacts for him to find? "(Just how many such books are stored within Candlekeep's walls, I wonder?)"

On the official shelves? Or just within the walls in general? "Not really in the _library,_ though a few ended up there all the same." All manner of bookshelves there didn't qualify as 'official.' "Some of the nobles—the ones who came in just to brag for the status of it—I'd catch them reading those sorts of things, and they'd always act _embarrassed,_ though I couldn't tell whether it was for wasting their time thus or for the tawdry content itself, for _some_ of those books were downright—"

Edwin's lips were pinched together, able to hold back words far better than she—gods, why had she kept on speaking?—for his hadn't ever been a _real_ question, had it, just a rhetorical sort of wondering, yet she'd gone on and revealed far too much, even if it had been mostly Imoen's fancy and Sajantha had finally submitted only out of curiosity, and, _and why was he looking at her like that?_ Laughing at her, he was laughing at her, wasn't he, thinking she was just as simplemindedly vacuous as those noblewomen surrounded by the wisdom of the world and interested only in… in…

"Downright _what?"_ Was it only his accent that inflicted the word with enough sly amusement to set fire to her face?

"Um. Embarrassing?" Yes. Surely that. Not just for the way the heat itched all the way down her neck. Gods, how that had backfired! The voices of the others up ahead sounded especially loud to her burning ears. Sajantha smoothed her hair back over them, then pointed. "Those murals, there. I've never seen anything like them! How old do you suppose they are?"

Figures colored by red-orange paints—depicting the bronzed skin of the Amnians?—in a stylized flatness paced the upper walls in various stiff movements. No text accompanied them—lest those geometric shapes linking the border held some meaning—but surely they illustrated a story of some kind, if one had the time to unravel the tale they told.

Edwin's smirk allowed her the change of topic without further humiliation, and as his gaze slipped past her to the walls, 'twas almost a palpable relief for the strength of his attention to no longer be narrowed upon her.

They passed individual burial sites, now, instead of the group-graves: alcoves with caskets, and shelves holding oddly-curved urns and figurines, all surely with such significance, even if it had been lost with their owners. Once, her magic could have told her their past with but a touch.

Sajantha kept her hands at her sides.

Edwin ducked a bit as they passed beneath a low archway decorated with what had once been boldly-colored chains of squares, though the pigments remained strong where the stones hadn't been cracked. "The city is almost thirteen-hundred years old, and these appear more Calishite than Shoon, so I expect nearly a millenia."

Of course, much of the land from here to Calimshan had fallen to the Shoon Empire, which in turn had fallen. But was that such a thing for someone from such distant lands to be familiar with? "An expert on Athkatla, are you? I'd no idea!"

"A simple matter of research, of course." His voice grew dry, " _I_ blunder into nothing uninformed."

He'd want to prepare with all the information he could, aye—like that Thayvian guidebook to the Heartlands he'd carried with him last year—and… (that's why he was so curious about her scars, demanding every detail).

 _I need to know what he did to you._

 _Tell me what this Irenicus wants._

She bit down hard on her lip. But just what did he expect _that_ to tell him? At least he'd not mentioned it since the night before, when he'd sent her running. Twice.

Sajantha hugged her arms and the heat reached her face which warmed even more, for he was looking at her, waiting for some sort of response. Up ahead, the others kept their pace slow, slowing further whenever Yoshimo bid them wait.

Edwin's voice called her attention back. "By your silence (and manifold past demonstrations), I take it this is a practice you disagree with? (Or perhaps she at last recognizes the idiocy of such impulsiveness.)"

"It depends on the _context,"_ she corrected, because that was the first thing that came to mind and best not risk a longer pause that might break away the conversation: it wasn't likely they'd get much more time to talk. Just the two of them.

"Ah, you and your 'contexts,' of course. There is in fact no context in which first taking measure of the situation before acting fails to be ideal."

"That's—but that's not true at all! When you're doing the right thing—helping someone—sometimes it's easier to just jump in, when you don't have time to…" (to hesitate to second-guess as fear caught up caught hold) "to think about it." (about how it would hurt)

Edwin hadn't noticed the words she'd stumbled on (nor the ones she couldn't say); he waved a dismissive hand. "Thinking is indeed a deterrent to such reckless behavior. One should hope you learn to indulge it more often. (The 'right' thing, pfeh! When is the right thing to preserve others at one's own expense?)"

She froze in place, all the thoughts swirling in her head: a whirlpool with no way to tell up from down, forward from back, past from present; red glimmered in her vision as his shape blurred.

"What is the matter?" Edwin's sharp voice pierced through her fog.

 _What is the count at now?_ Even the memory of the words was sharp, leaving pins and needles prickling down her fingers as she lifted them to her lips.

"Did you activate a trap?"

"N-no." Sajantha's voice caught. No. Nothing on her fingers (no blood), just this strange feeling, like a vibrating numbness. But—gods!—now was not the time to break down, not around these people she'd only just met, and not standing before Edwin who wore such a look of scrutiny upon his face.

Anomen—scouting ahead with Yoshimo—had paused to look back, though Korgan was closer, and the dwarf gave her a narrow-eyed look as she staggered into a pillar then leaned against it.

With her eyes squeezed shut, the world stopped spinning. But the scuffing sound of footsteps against the dusty ground made her look up as they grew closer.

"The wee wench keeps dragging her feet and _I_ be wondering why we drag her about." Korgan's appraisal had only grown colder. "Eh, wizard? I've nay a use fer dead weight."

Edwin's gaze zeroed in on the dwarf with a sharpness that should have caused even 'Bloodaxe' to back up a step, and when he didn't, Edwin took a step forward instead. "My designs are not to be questioned. That you consider yourself worthy of challenging me I find of _grave_ concern."

Korgan spit upon the ground—close to them—but not so close to confirm he'd been aiming so. "Rest when death takes ahold of ye, girl. As ye're blundering about with all the savvy of a flat-footed ninny-hopper, don't reckon it be long." And he gave her a leer: part snarl, part sneer. His axe still dripped with the juices of the slain spiders, a slick poison coating.

Mundane, the death the dwarf offered. A clean pain. (Quick.)

He let out a quiet grunt—of surprise?—when she'd no reaction for him, not a flinch nor even a frown. Funny how threats—likely sincere, even—from an axe-wielding berserker felt so very tame. But perhaps 'twas simply because Edwin stood on just the other side of her.

Hands on her hips, Sajantha left the support of the pillar. "You've a ways to grow before your threats elevate enough to frighten me."

"Pfah!" With his heavy brows twitching, the dwarf looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be angry or amused. "It's yer sense of humor what needs growing. A _height_ joke, is it?"

"If you wish." She gave a shrug. "Though I've no need to stoop to appeal to the lowest common denominator."

Edwin chuckled. "A pity mathematical jokes will surely soar above his head."

"Ach, ye long-limbs would nae know a good joke if it clocked ye sideways and spilt yer brains out yer ears. Which I be tempted to try." And Korgan's fingers curled 'round the hilt of his largest axe, in warning or perhaps unconsciously. Which ought to be the more sobering?

"Perhaps I might attempt a joke more suited for you, Mister Bloodaxe." Yoshimo lightly stepped between them, tipping his head. "I have traveled far across the lands," his accent strengthened a bit as if to remind them the truth of this, "and it could be I've encountered a tale to amuse your taste, if you should permit me to relay it."

Korgan's nose wrinkled up, neither an invitation nor refutation.

"There once," Yoshimo began grandly, "was a dwarf…" he let the expectant pause stretch on, "who did not drink alcohol."

Korgan stared at him a long moment before he barked out a laugh and slapped his knee. "Har! At least one of ye limp lily-livers knows how to tell a proper joke. A dwarf who dinnae drink. Heh." With the rumbling of a quieter grumble beneath his breath, he strode off, his shoulder clipping into Anomen as the squire hurried towards them; neither slowed.

Yoshimo's gaze lifted to Edwin's and something silent—and serious—passed between them. What? For they both next looked at her.

Anomen's gaze scanned through them all, too, though if he picked up on their tension, he didn't show it, seeming more concerned with what lay ahead: "The tunnel splits in the next passage. The first looks to be a dead-end, but—"

Edwin frowned, moving to see for himself. "A false front." He'd taken but a moment to look. " 'Tis the second which ends in death; best have your vision checked. See the patterning on the hallway? A series of traps will ensure you never reach the 'door' (a two-dimensional painted surface, if not an illusion); it is a trap in itself." So certain, he sounded, but how could he know? "The first passage must have hidden its exit. Come." Edwin's boots caught the torch-light as he strode forward, his long legs quickly surpassing the dwarf's.

 _Keep to the back._

And there she was again, as they fell in line again into the close space—the ceiling had lowered even more; how might this _not_ be a dead end?— the group's steps together echoed into a clatter ringing in her ears. Too tight, too loud, too _dark,_ when would they be done with this? Surely it couldn't be so very much longer. Her torch wavered and she shifted it to her non-aching arm.

Anomen turned towards her, brow wrinkled with displeasure. A remnant for Edwin, or for her?

"Changed your mind about the seaweed?" She patted at her pocket, and the weak joke seemed to lighten him a bit, for the corner of his mouth tugged upward even as he shook his head.

"Here!" Yoshimo spotted the secret doorway first—a panel seamlessly blending into the rest of the wall's design—and after a bit of tugging, they were finally able to pour free of the stifling tunnel.

Sajantha gulped in a breath of this new space, even more vast for the cramped quarters they'd just left.

More murals decorated the large room, painting even the floor in a swirl of brilliant colors: the tiles retained the vibrancy of their original art far better than the walls. A stranger hush had settled here, _darker,_ even for all that the reflections from the tiles amplified the meager lighting. A handful of doors lined the extended space, likely hiding more pockets of graves. If an ancient scroll of power truly lay locked away down here, it wasn't hard to imagine they were on the right track.

A gesture from Edwin sent his spell-light soaring into the high-ceilinged vault where it hovered like a small sun, throwing light across all the golden tiles, near blinding after their trek squinting through the gloom.

Sajantha's fingers ran across a carved vase as she passed its pedestal. Who had it once belonged to? Or—not a vase, perhaps—an urn?

"How much coin would this go for, I wonder?" Yoshimo nodded at it.

She jerked her hand back. If this didn't offend the gods—as Anomen pointed out—surely it offended the spirits. How much coin could they possibly gain down here? And what right had they to any of it? No—not them— _Imoen_. Imoen, Imoen, Imoen.

The dwarf's eyes locked on the painted pottery with a greedy gleam. 'Twas not as though she had grounds to protest against any additional grave-robbing. _Twenty-thousand gold._ She should join him. But as the rest of them, Korgan seemed to be caught in the room's expectant stillness; they all hovered in the raised platform of the entry, a chill hanging with them as if the silence itself breathed.

"Dark magic, here. Lots." Raviwr curled into Edwin's shoulder, his tail brushing against the other side of his master's hood. "Creepy, crawly."

Edwin scanned the room with a frown.

Were they even still beneath the graveyard? Perhaps this cavern stretched farther, somewhere else beneath the city. How many cities had such elaborate tunnels beneath them? Their inhabitants so unaware of what transpired beneath, ignorant of the instability of their entire foundation. Like the fallen temple of Bhaal in slumber beneath Baldur's Gate: unnoticed, unremembered. What waited forgotten down here?

Something did. Something that sent this uneasiness to thicken the air.

"Well?" Edwin snapped after a moment, waving a dismissive hand at Yoshimo. "On with it."

The rogue sighed, picking his way down the steps with great caution. Tiles could conceal traps, the shifting weight of an unlucky trespasser enough to trigger them; Imoen's eyes—and her luck—had always been keen enough to spot them.

"The far blue tile—" Edwin pointed— "to the right. No, the other one!"

"Detecting traps…" Sajantha raised her eyebrows at him. "That's a divination spell." So that was it! And that book he'd been reading the other night…

"So it is." Edwin did not lift his eyes from Yoshimo's work. Studying spells of the school he'd only had derision for before? But why—

"Ah-ha!" Yoshimo gently pried the edge of the tile. "I see it. _Chikushō!_ These traps are layered with—"

Like a great breath extinguishing a candle, the mage-light sparked out as a gust of wind swept over them—through them—it blew beneath her skin, leaving a chill that tried to crawl out in prickling goosebumps. Her breath emerged clearly, a cloud of warmth about her mouth, and the hilt of her sword numbed her fingers.

Yoshimo's torch flung shadows far, too far—too large—and still growing.

The doors behind them slammed shut.

* * *

Shadows broke free on every side. Unbound, they surged upwards, growing, as if the warmth in the air gave them life, gave them form, and they sucked it out into freezing.

Yoshimo's torchlight flickered wildly, then it—and he—disappeared.

"No!" Sajantha started forward, but stumbled into a storm of light that seared her sight; holy power tickled over her, channeled through a clerical chant. She surely wasn't Helm's intended target, but fear for a moment halted her.

Clenching his holy symbol, Anomen's arm shook as the skeletons between he and Yoshimo froze, then fell into cracking piles of bones, even as more filled their place. Gods! Where were they all coming from?

Sajantha's torch was the only light remaining but for the bursts of spell-work which revealed flashes of stretched sinew and empty eye sockets lurching closer to surround them.

Streaks of white fire split her vision as light rained down: Anomen's holy blast roared through their desiccated bodies, slamming some back, strong enough to vaporize those already burning from Edwin's arcane flames.

A guttural roar confirmed Korgan was somewhere still swinging, but what about Yoshimo? All beyond the torchlight was a swarming mass of blackness too chilling for any infravision to see through. How to get to him—?

The first wave had fallen, but the undead showed no sign of stopping, not when the shadows still moved and moaned.

And _rattled._ Tearing free of a pile of burned corpses, an armored skeleton—a giant-kin's, surely!—shivered upright to tower over her.

Sajantha squeezed her hilt, palms sweaty. Her short sword wouldn't do any good against _bones_ magically woven together—and surely not against anything so very large—she might as well be holding a gods-damned toy!

Massive arms lifted up from the ground—it had the reach on her even if it wasn't too late to dodge—she squared her stance and held her breath.

Something hurtled forward with all the speed and force of a cannonball: the skeletal creature staggered back as splinters of bone chipped free. _Korgan._ And his axe. A pairing well-matched, for the dwarf didn't appear to comprehend he was but a third the skeleton's size, and with the damage he wreaked, the skeleton couldn't comprehend it, either.

Sajantha let out a shaky breath. But on the inhale, a familiar sickly-sweet scent tugged at her, and she turned to find a figure wrapped in moldy linen lunging towards her—glimpsing green-gray skin rotting beneath the fabric—bearers of plague, of disease, weren't they? If it touched her—

She thrust out the torch with her left hand, following with a clumsy swipe of the sword as it—a mummy?—staggered back on fire; it blindly reached towards her—another swing—and its rotting body split, emptying onto the floor as it unraveled with a squelch, stench ripe in the air.

The hazy air had grown thick from the smoke of scalding fires, thick enough to burn her lungs; Sajantha coughed, scanning the battle with watering eyes.

Plenty more of the creatures stumbled about afire, courtesy of Edwin and the fire shield wreathed 'round him; his back to her, he thrust out his hand and blasted a handful more zombies to crumbling char.

But— _behind him—!_ An undead, yes, but it moved differently, all sleek and swift and—and— _so close!_

The sword was firm in her grip. She hurtled towards the creature's back; the blade reached it first—driving up, it lanced a kidney—and sank in as she heaved her weight behind it.

She knew the outline of the organ, where it should be. She knew a hundred things she shouldn't: just where the tendons connected, where blood flowed thickest, and now spilled around the hilt of her sword as she twisted it, deep, 'til her fingers were slick with it.

The creature whirled and locked her in its gaze. _Red._

Her grip slipped, wet. Not enough to fell something already dead, not nearly enough.

Fingers nerveless. Empty: metal clanged against the ground. The rest of the world moved sluggishly, a sickening smear of browns and grays.

Red flashed. A red cloak, red robes? No—it was even more close, even more warm—she choked on its spray. Claws had connected, those sharp nails; drops of blood hung in the air, frozen like her heart, cold and hard. It beat once, echoed like a drum, resounding in the hollow hall.

A blast of blinding fire caught the creature from behind and lit it like a pyre; dry skin crackled to black, flames devouring as red and orange danced together.

The song of arrows flew by. _Yoshimo._ Alright, he was alright. A warm feeling filled her (leaked out).

Without the mage-lights, the ceiling so far above disappeared in a pool of black. Shadows spilled, like ink across her eyes (drip drip drip).

Red was the wizard and his fire magic blazing a wall around them. Red was the feeling of heat inside as the gauntleted hand stretched towards her; it burned. But it was a stranger's face looking down—a stranger's god—sending healing magic flaming through her veins.

She'd been brought back to life a hundred times; no one would get it right. Too late to warn him: too withered, too dry, she would only burn.

 _Do you see?_

But she was blind—still blind—and could only scream at the fire lit inside her.

* * *

=E=

If his focus did not keep fading with each burst of stars inside his skull—if he'd but a spell to scatter these gawking oafs free of them!—but the pulse pounding through his head kept the scene a blur. Nor would a shouted dismissal suffice if he lacked the means to enforce it. Best not tempt this. The last group had lacked the spine to summon themselves into threats, but this current assortment could turn on them in but a moment; his glyph might lend only the barest warning.

The dwarf could be awaiting such an opportunity. Likely he'd not act 'til after they'd reached his treasure; he'd keep at least through then. The Helmite allowed his honor to think for him, and such idiocy was predictable only in the inevitable illogic of his actions. The rogue was still an aggravatingly unknown factor.

Tension squeezed up Edwin's back, knotting muscles, as he lowered himself to Sajantha's side.

Blood—the blood was from her fingers. _The vampire._ How much hers? "Don't touch me!" She thrashed away from the squire, who sat back with a look of alarm. "No! No more." Her hands clawed at the collar of her shirt, leaving dabs of red.

Gods! Must they have an audience? A wand of fear, he could activate _that_ at least, remove these idiots. Such a display! Far too many eyes remained upon them to be revealing any sort of weakness; with such ease might it could be taken advantage of. Nothing to do but ignore them and save his wands should they act. " _Sajantha."_

Her gaze seized him—as desperate as those clutching hands—reaching out from whatever nightmare ensnared her mind to hold him for a moment as still as the vampire had.

The green of her eyes was far dimmer than before, yet somehow no less striking for the way she focused upon him: as if he were her single lifeline and there was every chance she could pull him back into this nightmare of hers 'til neither were afloat.

"Sajantha: _hear me_. Remember where you are." Surrounded by folk they could not trust, in a tomb trapped and full of enemies.

So close, so close to the Scroll; they could not simply teleport away and leave the rest here. Bah! But so long already he had been patient, he could manage it a little longer, long enough for Sajantha to emerge from this. (Even if every second dragging on only demonstrated further weakness, and if they should strike him whilst he was distracted with her…)

Her eyes had returned to normal. Nearly. The green still dimmed—not bright at all—but aware enough, the whites around them had faded back, and if further confirmation was necessary, color suffused her pale cheeks and she would no longer look at him.

Why had this even happened? "I told you to keep back! What were you thinking? Nothing at all, for you have naught in the way of defense."

She sat up stiffly, then coughed, blood on her lips.

How badly had she been damaged? "I have protections in place—you do not!" Truly, what madness had propelled this? "Your interference is not needed; you endanger yourself for no reason."

"Are you alright?" the squire asked, helping her to her feet. As if he had not been the cause of her screams but moments before!

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head. Red-faced beneath a sheen of sweat, she glanced up at Edwin as she moved away with still some muted horror shining in her eyes. "I'm fine." She pushed hair from her eyes, then stared at the blood on her fingers, now streaked across her brow.

"Ach!" Korgan's sound of disgust was disgusting in itself, the way his spittle flew nearly as much as the blood dripping down his axe. Ugh. If the obnoxious dwarf should spit at them again, Edwin would—he would—

Edwin unclenched his hands, clenched his teeth instead. His fastest spell was unfortunately not the strongest; he'd reached too far to properly empower it, and the weaves still danced behind his eyes. It would take more time to regain his focus.

"Where's yer follow-through, girlie? Quick work with the blade won't do a lick o' good 'less ye the guts to finish it!" Bloodaxe told Sajantha, wiping down his axe. "Little blood's s'posed to warm ye up, not set ye squealing, eh?" He shook his head, grumbling about dainty elves as he waddled away. Strange he should appear so much more nimble in combat.

"My… my lady." Dumb, indeed, was the look upon the squire's dumbfounded face. Pity he'd not been struck dumb, as well. "I had no idea—"

"No, it's—it's nothing you did." Hand waving him off, Sajantha looked more embarrassed than he. At least the healing had done its job, whatever other effect it had triggered. Gods! Just what was going on? And just how much information did he lack?

"If there's anything I can–"

If he could but close his trifling yap! "You've done quite enough, boy." Edwin walked past him. Might have _pushed_ past him, but that suit of armor looked unfortunately solid on such a squat muscled frame, and the walls of the room were starting to sway. Ugh. Would he need to crawl into a coffin for privacy?

A quick glance around confirmed the rogue and the dwarf to be amusing themselves, poking through the area for anything light enough to carry.

"Ten minutes." Leave them to their looting, then; one of these smaller tombs should serve in the meantime, and though he had to stoop beneath the arched entrance, with hope the interior was not similarly incommodious. He paused in the dark doorway, still half-crouched, but surely he could manage this simplest of spells! " _Itmen mitne."_ The weave did not waver (of course, of course it did not), sending light enough to navigate the dim cell. The sarcophagus within was cracked open enough to reveal 'twas empty (this was _not_ a time for surprises); he slid the lid back into place and slumped upon the stone, rubbing his forehead.

Movement in the corner of his eye—someone had reached the doorway—Edwin straightened.

"I'm sorry," Sajantha said softly. "I didn't mean to startle you." She glanced over her shoulder, then slipped inside. "Are you hurt?"

"Vampires." He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "Energy drain." Evidently the charm he'd purchased to ward off their effects was only semi-functional; words would be had with the merchant, to be sure (as if buying magical goods in this city was not enough of a headache already!).

"I'm sure if you asked nicely, Anomen would heal you."

He snorted. He would be dead and cold before relying upon a Helmite to save him, a sentiment the squire no doubt shared. "I look so desperate as that?"

"Not desperate. Tired, though." She took a step forward. "Will you be alright?"

"A minor delay only." As if he'd allow any such setback to deter him! "Do not concern yourself."

"Maybe I'm only concerned about myself, if you should fall." She raised her eyebrows, with just a hint of a question in her jest.

"Hn." An intelligent concern, if unlikely. "Do not stray too far. Be ready, if they should turn on us."

She glanced again over her shoulder, then came to sit beside him, pulling herself atop the coffin which protested with a dusty scrape. "It's strange, isn't it. Being in another group? It's almost hard to remember what it was like before. Being able to trust everyone." She lifted her gaze towards him, then down to her hands. "I don't suppose you ever did, though." Her fingers held onto the lip of the sarcophagus, leaving faint smears of red along the stone as a shiver rocked through her.

Edwin uncorked a restoration potion from his pockets and took a drink of the thick liquid before passing it over; Sajantha managed only a single sip before thrusting the bottle away.

"What—what _is_ this," she coughed out.

"This is a question one ought ask _before_ blindly accepting something." She lacked even that charm to lend her warning against poisons, now. Woefully under-geared, in fact—would she not surrender the coin to remedy it?—whatever else had changed, she was still stubborn past any sense. "I trusted you'd not enter into a fight you could not win. Please do not tell me I need to reevaluate you to accommodate a new level of stupidity."

The arm against his stiffened. "Do _I_ need to apologize? I thought you were in trouble."

"This transcends logic? You are equipped with the most flimsy of gear; you barely know how to use that sword. What, exactly, did you think to do?" Against a _vampire,_ no less!

"You didn't need any help, then? Clearly, I was wrong." Her fingers brushed his—only to call attention to the red potion, for she tugged as if to take it free of him, giving him a pointed look.

As if _he_ had been the one endangered! "I had it under control! You will not make this mistake again." Protecting her would be difficult enough without her charging forward with all the forethought of of a brainless berserker.

"Thinking that you're in trouble, or trying to help you?"

"Either. I do not require your help."

"Everyone needs help sometimes."

"And you a good deal more than most. Do not go seeking additional trouble." He held the potion out. "A little more should lend you enough strength (or the illusion of it) to make it through here."

She looked down. "What about after that?"

He kept the bottle outstretched until she took it and downed the rest of the bitter liquid without protest.

"Thank you." The words held a weight far larger than simply the potion she held in her hands. "You know if there's anything I might do to help you, you only have to ask." She stared at the empty bottle. "I'm sure you don't need it. And even if you did, you'd not tell me. But," her gaze flicked up to his, "I just wanted to make sure you know."

"I know." Much of her remained rather transparent. The list of things he did _not_ know of her had grown, though, and these potential blind spots were quite vexing. Just what had Irenicus done with her? Her magic? Clearly some manner of mental block was in place, though just how much damage the man had done was impossible to tell, with her continuing to hide from it. Not to mention this reaction to something so innocuous as healing magic…

"Don't look so serious!" Her shoulder nudged against his. "You're about to get your hands on the written words of the creator races, after all."

Something of a smile on her face, if faint; one answered within him. A Nether Scroll! At long last. Such a marvel, truly, his efforts would soon begin to pay off.

An alert prickled through their bond as Raviwr sent warning; Edwin surged to his feet—dizziness chasing a trail through his vision—just before a shadow fell over the doorway. Sajantha landed a half-moment behind him, slipping down to his side.

The Kozakuran, blocking the entry, gestured over his shoulder. "The dwarf grows restless."

"Ten minutes, I said! If he so fails at keeping track of numbers, I should not expect him to be able to measure when it comes time to portion out the treasure, either." The threat of reducing his share ought keep him quiet, even if threats of bodily harm did not.

"Eh," the rogue gave them a shrug as he backed out of the room, "perhaps I will allow you to tell him so."

"It's gone and been ten minutes, mage!" Bloodaxe's voice bellowed from the outer hall. "Ye done dainty-footing around? If ye're so eager to join the dead, I can set ye right; no need to be taking naps with 'em."

"Having trouble counting past your fingers, you ignorant baboon?" Perhaps the dwarf needed be taken up on his offer of a flame-broiling at the end of this, after all. "We will be ready when I say."

"Shall I distract him?" Sajantha glanced up at him. "A few more minutes?"

Edwin straightened his robes. "Unnecessary." The potion should be in effect by now, but, "Shall I?"

"I'm fine." A hint of a smile.

"Almost convincing, this time."

She looked away, lips pressing into a flat line.

"Sajantha."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You cannot live in denial forever." No, that would not do, not at all.

* * *

=S=

Without the bound shadows lurking to diminish it, the mage-light had returned in full splendor to sparkle across the great hall, forcing Sajantha to blink as she emerged from their cozy alcove.

Anomen stepped up to meet her. "How are you faring?"

"I'll be fine." Whatever was in that potion had expelled the worst of that fatigue from her. _Energy drain._ "Sorry to alarm you." Just how much had she managed to embarrass herself this time? For a moment she'd been back in her cell (Irenicus looming over her)—

Anomen's gaze followed Edwin as the other man swept past them. "The wizard is right. You should leave the blade-work to the front-line fighters; we are better equipped to handle it. In all senses of the word."

"I… I suppose I don't know what role I fill anymore. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." No magic, nor harp, nor anything. Just a blade (for slicing stabbing tearing)—

"It seems to me you are fulfilling your role as a peacekeeper quite well. Keeping the wizard from his 'accidental' collateral damage."

"I should hope I'll be of more use than that! I can't just stand back and allow everyone else to take risks for me." _Learn to defend yourself,_ Edwin had said. Defend _her_ self. Apparently not anyone else. Sajantha raised the blade. "I'll have to get the hang of this eventually."

"Surely diving straight into combat with the undead is a bit of a jump! Something to work your way up to. Here," he reached out, "you're holding it like a dagger, not a sword. Have you had any training?"

 _This is the heart,_ Irenicus's voice frosted over her, goosebumps rising in its wake.

"N-no. I—no." Her hand clenched—too tight—her hold slipping.

Anomen straightened her grip. "Like this." He gave her a smile.

She couldn't manage her own, but her eyes tried to hold onto his. "You must have had a lot of practice."

"Ah." He gave a nod, but his gaze had grown almost intense, yet a bit unfocused, as he stared off. "I have worked on little else these last years. I learned the arts of the sword from the guardians of the temple, even before I was taken on as a squire."

"And you've had plenty more exercise with your sword since then, I expect." What was a knight without his blade, after all?

"Indeed. I have gone to great pains to demonstrate my worth to the knights, performing feats greater than those of ordinary men. It has been… a struggle at times, to prove my worth to the Order."

And he'd hoped _this_ quest might be enough to raise him in their esteem. Her heart sank.

"But a few of my deeds have already reached the ears of bards," he continued.

"That's impressive." Though simply reaching the _ears_ of bards quite differed from reaching their _tongues;_ one could even say he'd reached a bard's ears just now, if such a thing counted. Or if she still counted as a bard. "What sort of glorious adventures have you gotten up to, then?" Something suitably heroic for a fighter dedicated to upholding good, of course, something simply black-and-white, without grays to stain a paladin's prized moral compass.

Sajantha sat down on the remnants of a fractured pillar and tried not to look at the piles of bodies on the far side of the hall, far easier than ignoring the singed smell of them.

Anomen straightened purposefully, looking as though he'd had one such adventure on the tip of his tongue all along: "This last winter, I stood with our army against the vile orc invaders of the Ommlur Hills."

 _Ommlur!_ A poet, wasn't he? The question rose to the tip of her tongue but stayed there where it wouldn't cause interruption; this was about Anomen.

"Fighting through many alone, I took the head of one of their foul chieftains." Still with that faraway look to him, Anomen nodded to himself. "I wish nothing more than to ride into battle with the crest of the Radiant Heart flying above me, surrounded by my brothers-in-arms, warriors of unquestionable valor."

Sajantha scuffed her boot against the ground. "Not around those like us, you mean."

Anomen's head jerked up. "I… no, that is not…" His chin dropped, sending a curl of loose hair to lick his forehead. "Please forgive me. I have had little experience with the fairer sex in my time and likely speak as a blunt tool."

Now _that_ was nearly worth a laugh, would her laughter not set him even more on edge. "The only blunt tool I've seen hereabouts is nearly two feet shorter than you, and half-again as wide."

"Ah." He seemed to relax a bit, his posture softening. "But you were wrong, about being around…" He cleared his throat. "I mean, I hope to accomplish great deeds while in your service."

In 'her service!' As if… as if she were a _lady_ or something! Though he did keep calling her thus, didn't he? And he was staring at her—again, with that dreadfully earnest face—and what the _hells_ sort of great deeds might he find with them (with her)? Sajantha tried to smile. "I hope so, too."

"If anyone cared about your (assuredly unimpressive) life," an acidly accented voice rose behind them, "we would be having tea toasting your good health instead of ensuring you were first in line for each encounter with the enemy." Sajantha glanced back to see Edwin gesturing to the side: "Speaking of this, 'tis time to move on."

Anomen's face flushed, and Sajantha hopped to her feet to stand between them. "Oh, I'm sorry, Edwin. Have you some former glories of your own you wished to share?" As if he just felt free to barge into their conversation with such insults! "Or is the reason you're so tight-lipped on your own past because you haven't?" In the space of hours— _minutes_ —she'd learned more of Anomen than of Edwin over months!

A sneer flashed across Edwin's face. " _If_ I had not, I could manufacture some quite readily of far greater scope (and yet infinitely more believable), if that's truly what I wished."

"Then what is it?" Yoshimo approached, thankfully looking none the worse-for-wear after their last encounter. He inflected his voice with that dry not-quite-teasing tone: "One might almost suspect you dislike not being the center of attention."

Though Edwin looked downright bored as he straightened his bracers. "Do not insult me; I could not accept her regard knowing she shared it with such ilk. No, I simply tire of this long-winded fool's stories. He is of little use outside of battle, a fact that should be clearer with every word he speaks."

" _Edwin."_ Sajantha planted her hands on her hips. "You can't just—"

Taking hold of her shoulders, Anomen moved her aside with insulting ease. "I can handle this ballyrag, my lady. I am familiar with such types, and I've no need for you to defend me."

He ignored her, too? Hands clenched, Sajantha bit down on her tongue. As if this might go anywhere good! "You don't—"

But Edwin had turned his back upon them with a clear—if confusing—intention. He wasn't afraid of the other man, obviously, but did he actually _want_ Anomen to attack him? "I should almost be surprised you have a spine, if the corresponding lack of _brains_ did not accompany its usage." He'd made sure to raise his voice to be legible as he headed out of the hall. "Do not overtax yourself attempting to access more than one function at a time. (Can he both walk and talk, for instance?)"

"Go spit your venom elsewhere, you wretched snake!" But Anomen was quick on his heels as the group resumed their trek. "The lady and I were enjoying pleasant converse before your interruption."

Edwin ignored him a moment as he pointed Yoshimo back to scouting the front. "Do not mistake 'enduring' for 'enjoying,' _squire."_

Their antagonistic voices slammed the inside of her head into a rattling cacophony, and Sajantha staggered a step with an abruptness that left her close to sinking all the way back to the floor. "I—I need to sit down." Did they even hear her? Too far, or too preoccupied? Somehow the sounds inside her head hadn't abated.

But, Korgan… the way he had stared at her last time… he alone glanced back at her, eyes unreadable as he turned away.

 _Be ready, if they should turn on us._

She oughtn't look any weaker than he already thought her. Drawing in a breath, Sajantha steadied herself against the wall. But then the wall was gone.

* * *

=E=

"What else do you think we shall run into down here?" The rogue's question was innocuous enough, save for it being jettisoned directly mid-argument; he'd taken it upon himself to diffuse things, apparently, a task Sajantha normally took upon herself. Very well. Their conversation had grown less and less interesting by the blow, anyway (wordplay was _not_ the Helmite's forte).

"More of the foul undead, no doubt." No need to turn around to tell the squire had not lost his scowl. "This place practically _oozes_ with their vile presence."

"Even more 'n those pimples oozing under yer beard, lad? Ha!" Not a _terrible_ joke, but surely not worth the amount of laughter the dwarf dedicated to it. "It'll take far more than a few shambling bags of skin and stitches to deter Korgan Bloodaxe from a king's ransom. Buckle up yer boot-straps or get left behind!"

"Surely that is not the worst of what we may encounter." In front of them, the rogue glanced back over his shoulder. "You are expecting something else, no?"

Why, did they believe 'twas some great secret he hid? Ignorance did none of them any favors. "A lich."

 _That_ surprised the squire; he stared for a moment, mouth insipidly open as even his meager sense fled his mind.

"After that vampire nearly got ye?" Korgan snorted. "Might be ye should've taken a longer nap, ye daft daisy-pusher."

"Your memory is dangerously inaccurate." It had done no such thing! Even if Sajantha had forced him far closer to it than was ideal (her fault!) and that charm had been entirely unreliable: these were _not_ oversights which would be repeated.

"Liches are more dangerous than any vampire," the rogue agreed.

"I prepared specifically for a lich; it will be no trouble." Edwin's fingers drifted over the lichbane in his pocket. The rest of them ought to have been enough to handle whatever else they encountered.

" 'No trouble?' " The squire remained aghast. "You think to take on a lich yourself? The Order would assemble a far greater company to take down such a wicked creature: nothing less than a group of inquisitors specifically geared against it! And your great strategy is to, to what, stand back and lob your fire at it—while _we_ engage—and hope it dies before we do? Because I won't—"

Edwin grit his teeth. The gall of the knightling! "If you think _any_ part of my plan hinges on a novice of a boy who's never _seen_ a lich (much less faced one in combat), you are even more stupid than you look (which is saying something). Slink on back to your 'Order,' then, and prove you are nothing more than the hot air you spout." Hopefully one of the tunnels' residents would claim him along the way. "I do not need to explain myself to any of you!" Every last one of these meat-shields was as disposable as their uncalled-for opinions!

"A lich can strike unto one's very soul if it is allowed close enough." The fool still mistakenly believed they wished his input. "Their negative energy—"

"You've a prayer to bolster yourself against fear, have you not? Cast it and worry no more."

"I am no _coward,_ Wizard." The cleric practically seethed.

"(Then you are welcome to correct my impression by keeping any further protests to yourself.) They have not a touch of death but one of _paralysis._ (Though we ought not presume the cleric has prepared defense against this, either.)" Bringing along the priest was almost a waste but for his half-brained tendency to jump into the thick (Sajantha had best not again emulate this!): another layer between they and danger could not hurt.

"My magic keeps us alive," the Helmite retorted, "whereas yours is the very thing endangering us!"

Still sore about that fireball, was he? "Who among us has studied under the tutelage of a lich for nearly a decade?" Edwin scanned their faces: the squire had knotted his brow (but was blessedly silent), the Kozakuran lacked expression (but shifted his feet), and the dwarf appeared but a step above 'bored.' "As I expected." Like as not they'd be unable to tolerate sitting in the same room with an undead, never mind learning from one.

"You do not agree such a foe presents more threat than most?" the rogue asked in what he likely thought was a politely mild tone.

Bah! After being interred long enough for all to have forgotten its name? These lack-wits did not deserve an attempt to enlighten them, but perhaps shedding such disgraceful ignorance would silence their unlearned objections. "There are two reasons one becomes a lich: to exercise one's power, or for the time to pursue knowledge without the drawbacks of a mortal coil. This one is assuredly the latter, else he would have done more in the last centuries than remain hidden 'til all forgot him." No wonder his name had been so difficult to find traces of! Buried in the crypts with only scrolls, he was likely a bookish adherent to Oghma or some such.

The rogue glanced up from his trap-searching. "Perhaps he is simply studying this knowledge until he gathers enough to make his move, no?"

" _No."_ Edwin gave him a glare. Not with what he possessed. Hidden in these halls somewhere, Nevaziah held a treasure far greater than they could conceive: a Nether Scroll could accelerate knowledge far beyond what any mortal might hope to achieve, and the lich had been closeted with one for _centuries_ with nothing to show for it? Whatever the fool thing's goals, they were assuredly not _power._

"So, ye're all good, then. Prepared. Not a thing ye be lacking."

Had the damned dwarf heard nothing? Gods! How much of this questioning must be endured? "Indeed. I enter into nothing without knowing what to expect."

"So ye left behind the little twit on purpose, did ye? Awful quiet send-off, wasn't it, no bawling or nothing."

Just what did…? Edwin's feet came to a stop. _No. Surely not._ But… _Sajantha._ (Too quiet, when had she ever been so quiet?) _Left behind._ He turned around. "Where—"

The dark tunnel stared back at him, and the rest of the words caught in his throat as the answer became clear:

She was not with them.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Chikushō = Japanese/Kozakuran - "oh shit/oh blast"_

 _Sorry, I initially thought I could finish the whole 'Tombs' day in this chapter, but it ended up getting incredibly long once I fleshed it out and tried to add better battles. (And thanks to Kyn* for the idea on how the Nevaziah encounter ended up going… which got bumped to the next chapter, oops. xD As well as for helping me brainstorm romance titles. ;) 'The Crimson Pillar' is a name for Kossuth's realm/the Elemental Plane of Fire, of course!)_

 _And all the extra changes/additional scenes ensured I didn't have this chapter ready to go when things got crazy for me and sucked up all my time this month, so sorry about the delay! I only just got the internet straightened out at my new place (as if moving wasn't enough of a pain, ugh), but I will try to catch up with everyone as soon as I can. ;D_

 _Also, if it's not yet obvious, my version of "_ _Edwin & the Nether Scroll_ _" will not follow along what happens in the game (so no gender-reversals!). I have been informed there may be a need for me to one day write an AU involving an "Edwina," though…?_

 _(annnnd roasted seaweed with wasabi is the besssst but *for some reason* it grosses so many people out?!)_

 _*also since this note isn't long enough yet (?!), I shall pile on extra thanks at Kyn for helping me fix a few things in this chapter. x) again, I really really appreciate constructive feedback with stuff so whether major or minor, please don't hesitate to let me know what's not working (or what *is,* since that can be quite helpful, too). :)_


	11. Prize

=S=

The wall—the wall had _moved_ with her weight upon it—whirled her right around, and now it had flipped, leaving Sajantha on the wrong side. Had there been a lever? A pressure plate under her feet? _How could she get back?_

No way to tell, not in the dark. Infravision did nothing, _nothing,_ not without even a spark of heat to help. Cold things, here. Dead things. Holding her breath, would she hear them coming?

The torch, _of course_ she'd dropped the torch back with that vampire, and now her empty hands could do nothing but explore the terrifyingly smooth surface—nothing, not a seam nor any give—was she…

Her breath flew free in a half-sob, half-snarl. _Stuck._ She was stuck (alone alone alone).

Banging her hands against the stone only made a low thump and left her palms stinging. Not loud enough, not enough.

" _Hello—!"_ Could they hear her? They had to—they _had to—_ this place was maze enough without adding in mysterious one-way passages; how would—

"Hello."

Heart in her throat, Sajantha spun, sweaty palms sticking to the dusty wall behind her.

 _Dark dark dark._

Except for twin lights—red— _eyes._

She thrust out her hand. " _Itmen mitne!"_ The simplest of spells— _light—_ but the only light emerged behind her eyes, a blinding tear that _burned,_ and she clutched her head in pain. _No._ Her sword—just reach her _sword—_

"That is incorrect." The voice was dry—in all senses of the word—hard and coarse and brittle, and a bit… confused? Amused? " _Itmen mitne."  
_

And even if the syllables had sounded exactly the same, when he spoke a mage-light bloomed out, an orb that rose to hover above its summoner's head and brought the caster into its unapologetically bright glow.

The speaker was exactly as dry and withered as that scrape of a voice suggested: little skin remained on his face, only enough to lend the appearance of flesh to the painfully obvious skull beneath, and thin wisps of white hair floated about his scalp.

Layers of rotting cloth hung oddly on the skeletal figure, but clearly they'd once been robes of superb make, for runes glimmered across the borders. Eye sockets lit with crimson fire left any expression unreadable. _A lich._ Even if the wave of _wrongness_ had not made it clear: death, this creature was made of death, its phylactery all that anchored it from passing beyond.

But she was no stranger to death.

Sajantha released her sword-hilt: no use in trying _that_ ; this was assuredly a caster of no little power.

(And, her? What was she?)

A bard, once.

 _Tally and the Tinker,_ came Imoen's voice, a reminder of the gnome who'd brought down a dragon with only persistence and her voice, the very same strategy that had aided them later against Sarevok.

Sajantha swallowed. "You… you live here, don't you?" If one used the term loosely, but surely he wasn't an intruder, like them. A thousand years old, Edwin had said of these tunnels. (Miirym had already been locked away twice that long.) Gods! Who could stand it? "It must be so lonely."

"My pupils, they… they are around here, somewhere." His face wrinkled in what perhaps was a frown. "Aren't they…? So long, it's been. So long."

Not entirely together. And not currently violent. Well! Just keep him talking, then; that couldn't be so very hard.

She scanned their surroundings: the light illuminated the room nearly to its edges and hinted at the shape of tapestries and paintings shadowing the walls. Was this—was this some sort of treasury? On that table behind him, those were surely bound scrolls—and all those stacks along the floor, were those _books?_

"You've been down here this whole time with all these books?"

He turned, and the mage-light obediently swung with him, dancing over the— _yes!_ —those were books, and so many! Piles with gilded covers, tomes of thick leather, some faded, some embossed with gold. All of them surely centuries old. How many missing from Candlekeep?

And the light had grown brighter—for it hung right over her as she'd sprung forward—only, oh, she oughtn't have moved so, should she? But that one on the top was—gods!—was that script written in _Aearee?_

She glanced up at the lich, and he was just _staring—_ glaring? _—_ at her and her outstretched hand with those glowing eyes; how was she supposed to tell what he was thinking? But she was still alive, and he'd not moved.

Though it was incredibly impolite to paw at someone else's materials without invitation; she straightened and clasped her hands together so he'd not need to worry about her—or the oils on her fingers—and to keep from being tempted. "When I was a child, I used to fear the day I ran out of books in the library. But, you… you must have had time to read _everything_ here at least once." And the scrolls unfurled upon the tables—was this a treasury, or more a study?—certainly implied he'd not been idle.

He nodded, slow, but as if he couldn't connect that thought to aught of significance. Just how out-of-touch was he?

Miirym had eagerly devoured the latest happenings in the Realms, delighting to be told new tales. "So much has happened since you've been down here!" The Godswar not the least of it. "Have you any window to the outside?"

He'd taken a step with her, standing closer, out of concern or eagerness? "No. I… I have to hide. Guard the knowledge. The Cowled Ones, they are still looking for me?" What had started off as a statement had become a question, and in his uncertainty, the emaciated lich looked like nothing so much as an addled elderly man.

"I quite doubt they are." If they'd known about this trove, they'd surely have torn this place apart long ago, long before these scrolls had begun to crack at the edges. That parchment would have to be enchanted before it could safely be picked up, lest some of the oldest turn to dust with but a touch! "I think you and your books are safe. And a good thing, too! I've heard tell there's something of incredible rarity collected here. Scribed by the Creators."

His defensive posture gave it away, those bony fingers over his face bringing to mind nothing so much as crawling spider legs. "You have heard of this?" He _had_ it, didn't he! Was the Scroll actually _here?_ In this very same room with her? "Such a thing is dangerous. Where it is… it is safe."

Her heart picked up speed. This was it—what Edwin had brought them for!—and this lich knew where. _A Nether Scroll._

Sajantha licked her lips. And what if she should take it? What if she should be the one to present the Scroll to Edwin—for once, _he'd_ have to thank _her!—_ imagine the look on his face!

The lich had been receptive enough so far, might he even be reasoned with? Non-evil undead were incredibly rare, but there _had_ been tales of guardians tasked to protect dangerous lore, and all such knowledge fell within the realm of Oghma: whether he worshiped the Binder or not, this lich could not fail to have some loyalty to his domain.

"Knowledge is power and must be used with care, not hid from others. So sayeth Oghma." Though quoting his strictures brought none of the customary warmth as when she had always done so before; the room remained terribly chilled.

The lich's spider-fingers wrung together, climbing over each other. "And just what would you use this vast power for, child? What is your greatest of desires?"

Easy. "My friend. I… I'd use it to find her, to rescue her. If I could find a way." There were originally fifty of the Scrolls, each dealing with different realms of study. Though who could say which the lich held, or how it might help?

He appeared to be mulling it over. "Others need to be protected from it. The power it holds… could be used for great evil."

"But surely not _only_ that? Knowledge itself is never evil." Anyone familiar with Oghma's tenets knew that. "If you were trusted with it, you know it best." He'd read it—if he'd read everything here! "And if you've not destroyed it, it must be good for something more: not only _evil_." She held her breath. Might he perhaps give it to her?

"No," the lich relented, shaking his head once, slow. "Not only that."

The wall exploded.

Sajantha ducked through the thick dust, coughing as shrapnel stung her skin; she squinted through the haze.

A figure was clear even through the smoky debris—a _red_ figure with arm outstretched— " _Gethrisj!"_

A dart flew forward striking the lich in the chest—he staggered back a step—then he disappeared.

Cold hands clenched against her shoulders—Sajantha jerked away—

"Get back!" Anomen's voice. His gauntlets. That's why his hands were so cold. His shield raised up, a barrier to the surge of magic that flew towards them: ripples of lightning sizzled through the room and knocked everyone off their feet.

And there was the lich, the decayed sleeves of his robes waving as he cast, safely behind the shimmering glow of a protective orb.

 _Not for long._ 'Twas no use talking now: Sajantha reached for the wand at her belt. " _Leor!"_ Pain sliced through her skull then fanned out like fractures splitting down her insides; if she'd not already been kneeling, she'd have surely fallen.

"The protections are down!" a voice cried, and there followed the sound of a whistling stream of arrows and a howling dwarf, though she couldn't see them—couldn't see anything—'til her vision returned in jumps and starts, further adding to her dizziness as she staggered to her feet.

Trembling, she tried to take in a breath and steady herself, but her vision kept jumping as if the lightning still flickered.

Then it _all_ went white. What—what was that glowing? It hurtled right at her, and she ducked behind a table—it flew straight through!—a hand, a spectral hand: incorporeal, but it practically crackled with energy, infused with a lightning grasp.

If she could just draw it out of his eyesight—but where was he? Invisible, he'd gone invisible—

She whipped out her sword—the enchanted blade had to work!—in time to reach the hand, the collision hit her with almost the same force the lightning spell would have: the blade spat sparks, and a current of electricity hummed through it to sizzle her fingers; she grit her teeth and clung to the weapon for another strike. Spectral summonings couldn't hold up to much damage, so she only had to keep at it—just had to—

Arcs of lightning tangled and snapped between the blade and the hand, their rocking surge nearly flinging the weapon from her grasp; with a shudder, she swung again. Again.

And then hit nothing. _Saw_ nothing.

Panting, she swung her head to get her hair out of her face. Was it coming back? Had she destroyed it? The lich was out-of-sight, too, but not yet defeated, not with the clash of battle and colorful bursts of spells that kept the room practically quivering with their vibrations. She almost—no. 'Twas the _effects_ she felt, not the weaves themselves.

A wave of magic throbbed through the room and pulsed against the very walls, leaving the thumps of heavy frames hitting the floor and a ringing in her ears.

More explosions? Gods! Who—who was _casting_ like that? "Be careful!" Her voice barely rose over the din. "You'll destroy it!" A thousand years old, so much knowledge here, and so much could be lost.

"It _should_ be destroyed!" Disembodied, the lich's voice rose, certain where it had once been tremulous. "You are not fit to—"

At the sound, Edwin spun: " _Ixen kaxic!"_ His outstretched hand flung drops of fire, sizzling as some struck: there the lich was, no longer invisible, and an arrow whizzed towards him even as he cast.

Yoshimo's arrows! But— _Anomen!_ Dark tendrils of energy swirled about him—crouching, he tried to stand—his raised shield blocked off the worst of the damage, but its surface smoked and bubbled over his shaking arm as the lich's own arm stretched out, channeling.

A blast from behind him— _Edwin!_ —and the lich was knocked back: right into Korgan. And his axe.

* * *

Time had not been kind to the reliquary's holdings, and the spells even less: the room lay in shambles of broken ceramics and flaking ash of parchment scraps. Shards of glass cracked under her step. Gods! Was there even aught here to salvage?

The instigator of the destruction stood scanning the room, or his work; even with his hands at his sides and not at his spell pouches, something still seemed ready about him. Perhaps he awaited a sign something else needed be trampled underfoot.

 _"Edwin."_

She must have startled him for how swiftly he turned. Was that familiar disapproving crease naturally grooved into his brow, or was he simply unamused by her rebuking tone?

The leaking adrenaline left her feeling drained and empty, though it looked to still hold Edwin very much in its hold as he stared back at her: his set shoulders rose and fell with quick breaths, even yet ready for a fight never mind that the enemy lay dead. _More_ dead.

"Tarrasque," she accused. Mightn't the lich have turned the Scroll over to her without any violence at all?

And he gave his head a small shake as if to clear it before he turned away. "Elements cannot damage Nether Scrolls," he spoke over his shoulder. "You think they would have lasted so long, if so?"

 _Completely_ missing the point! Sajantha frowned, but he wasn't looking at her; his brief calm had ended as he spotted Korgan already poking about.

"You!" Edwin's pointed finger leveled at the dwarf. "You will await me." The mage-light dipped with his words, lowering enough to glisten the sweat on his brow.

 _The Scroll._ The Scroll, of course he'd first need to secure the Scroll: he glared at Bloodaxe with such force as to nearly snarl.

A touch on her arm sent a returning surge of adrenaline through her, just enough to leave her jittery. _Anomen._ But it took her pounding heart another moment to slow. She glanced back: Korgan was muttering something—and touching his axe a bit worrisomely—but he'd stood back to watch Edwin's search.

Ugh, even her legs were shaky! Sajantha leaned back against the wall—well, the part of it that hadn't caved in—had that stone _melted?_

"Ah, our shortest adventurer—whom we would actually miss—" A smiling Yoshimo arrived, with a pointed glance at the dwarf, "is safe. And much better at finding the treasure than the rest of us, it seems!"

Far from insulted, Korgan actually grinned, giving them a glimpse of yellowed teeth behind his thickly-plaited beard. "There better be some yet left, or I'll hack out me share in other ways."

"Indeed, it is heartening to find you well, my lady." Sincere, Anomen sounded—even if he'd paused to glare a bit at the two—he'd not realized how little she'd needed their 'rescue,' either. "When you disappeared, I feared the worst."

"Thanks. I'm fine." She stared down at the floor and the broken stone crumbled across it, a heaviness sinking in her chest as the rush of battle faded. Why couldn't Edwin just…?

"Hurry 'n pick out yer artifact then, and we'll clean up the rest." If the dwarf had any virtues, 'patience' appeared not among them.

Not that there could be so very much remaining worth taking.

But Edwin's pleased cry disagreed: he must have found his treasure.

* * *

=E=

Edwin pulled his dagger free of the disintegrating corpse and shook off the grave-dust, but some still clung to the white smear of the lichbane left upon the blade; he wiped it off with his handkerchief before returning it to his belt.

The Scroll had been locked within a small chest (with enough gems and other pedestrian riches to keep the rest occupied) and the more vulnerable books and manuscripts stored around it were hardly in salvageable shape, but the Scroll's enchanted nature kept it looking as pristine as its day of creation; not time nor even fire could harm it, not when it would simply reform again. And destroying the lich's phylactery (what idiot kept such a vulnerable thing so accessible?) would ensure the _lich_ would not reform again.

Such fortune, that no other had before stumbled upon this place! That guardian could not stand against anyone with so much determination—once it may have been a formidable foe, but no longer—the twisting tunnels and hidden passageways had served far better than a decrepit lich to keep the Scroll from discovery.

Ha! Laying for centuries right beneath their noses! If the Cowled Fools did not cripple themselves to the ridiculous rules of those who feared them, such a treasure would not have been allowed to languish unused in the crypts, as useless as the dead—and undead—surrounding it. Power belonged only where it would be put to use, after all.

Edwin ran a careful hand along the surface of the artifact. Ancient runes shimmered into existence as he touched the golden page, text that would change and reform once read, as if pages in a book had been turned.

 _His._ And the possibilities it promised—the _power—_ would be his as well. _Soon._ As if he had centuries to waste! As if he wished to remain in these uncivilized lands a moment longer than he must! Eltabbar's towered landscape beckoned, gleaming, with its glittering canals, a shining jewel to crown his return; the Hall of the Zulkirs would—

Footsteps neared: his fingers tightened upon it. Her—only her—but still the urge to hide this treasure out of sight squeezed through his hands (not to mention the urge to simply leave with it, to pore over and devour and savor every last rune!).

"May I see it?" But Sajantha kept her distance—kept her hands to herself, behind her back—only leaning over his arm to shake her head. "That's incredible. Such a piece of history!" The awe was clear in her hushed voice, in the shining eyes that looked up at him. "These helped create the very foundations of the Faerûn; Netheril would never have _existed_ without their lore."

Indeed. Here was a piece of the power that had created the greatest magical empire in the history of the world, and possessing even a single building block of it opened up possibilities well beyond the reach of any mortal. "I would not have it be known I carry such a thing." Not that the others would be able to remotely comprehend its worth, but he kept his voice low.

She glanced down at the dust across the floor, the little that remained of Nevaziah, and a line creased in her brow—was she about to wail and whine about his tactics as she always had last year?—but she only gave her head a shake, taking a step back. "Of course." She looked back up with a neutral expression upon her face. "We can't have you be a target for the next treasure-hunter to come around."

 _Target._ Nor could he allow her to wander off unsupervised. _"Sjach lleisgar vur wiilirk,"_ he murmured after she'd turned away, and for a moment her shadow darkened, deepened.

* * *

=S=

The faint throb in her head hadn't receded even as the battle ended; for a moment exhaustion struck through her as if she'd never drank that potion, and Sajantha steadied herself before jumping over the lip of the new 'doorway' out of the lich's lair.

Before her, Yoshimo had nimbly hopped across it, Korgan had swung over it, and even Edwin had no long robes to impede him; he'd stepped over with ease.

A bit of a clatter behind her announced Anomen hadn't had quite as much luck, but he'd cleared it by the time she turned, with nothing but pink ears to give him away as they returned to the echoing hall.

"My lady." He'd noticed her looking. "Are you alright?"

"Mm." _He_ was the one who'd tripped! "Am _I_ alright?" But her joking tone shaded his ears full to red—he didn't take so well to teasing, did he?—and she gave her head a shake, ignoring the lurch as her vision spun a bit. "You were the one singled out by the full force of that thing's spells—he really had it in for you! Are _you_ alright?" Some manner of dark magic had funneled through those tendrils wrapped 'round him, and near melted his shield! Oh—his arm—! Sajantha reached for it as he stepped up beside her, but there wasn't any sign of the attack.

"I used Helm's blessing to heal me," he answered, and she let go. (Of course not all damage was visible.) "You… I do not know that you would accept such."

And now it was her ears' turn to redden. A question there, _not_ an accusation, but Sajantha stared forward, biting the inside of her lip.

"You are still wounded."

"Not enough to bother with." Using the wand had once again left her buckled over in pain (what was wrong with her _what was wrong with her)_ , but in the chaos of the battle it had gone unremarked. She glanced up. "…How can you tell?" Edwin certainly hadn't noticed, but he'd been rather preoccupied with his new find—and was likely to remain so—the monks at Candlekeep would go absolutely _mad_ with the possibility of unlocking such a treasure; how could he be any less eager to uncover those hidden secrets?

Anomen shrugged. "A cleric can develop the ability to monitor such things: detecting injury enhances our ability to diagnose and treat it."

"So, you're monitoring me, then?" She _tried_ not to sound too teasing.

"Oh. Well, I, ah…" He coughed.

"It's alright! I seem to have rather awful luck, honestly; it's a relief to know someone's watching out for me." And as she said it—aye, it really was true. Terrible luck, and terribly lucky to have someone on her side trying to thwart it. "It means a lot. Thank you."

His chin lifted. "I am only doing what any concerned person ought do. I am fortunate I have the means to help me act on it as well. If you do wish healing, you need only say the word."

"Thank you. And, thank you for sticking with us, even after…" She cleared her throat. "I know it's not really your idea of a righteous quest." What might have impressed him? Dragon-slaying, or some such?

"I have not given up on you yet." His eyes grew lighter when he smiled, an almost golden brown. "The Lady Fortune works in mysterious ways, does she not?"

 _Fortune_. "Imoen… she's the one with the luck. She…" Well. Not so lucky, this time. "She follows Tymora. Always getting into scrapes—and out of them just as fast—when we were growing up."

"We will pray Tymora continues to smile upon her, then." Anomen tilted his head. "Tell me of her."

"You—you really wish to hear of her?" Or was he simply making conversation?

He looked away a moment—oh, up ahead—but he must have found nothing amiss with the rest of the group, for he turned back to her. "She is important to you."

"More than anything. She's the only family I have left."

And he listened to a disjointed tale that could not capture even a shade of Imoen, bits and pieces of childhood pranks… and then… skipping, fragmented, to the moment the Cowled Wizards had teleported her and Irenicus away.

"You are lucky you were not taken as well!"

 _In a cell—Irenicus—_

And something of her dread must have shone through, though Anomen did not seem able to identify the cause for it. "Are you not also a spellcaster?" He frowned.

"I… no. Well… no."

"I had thought only magic-users could cast from wands." His eyes strayed to her belt.

"Aye, you need to be able to draw upon the Weave to activate the stored spells. I didn't do so lovely a job at it though, if you noticed." Though Edwin was the one with arcane training, and he'd surely not noticed.

Anomen's brow creased, somewhere between concerned and contemplative. "Are you suffering some curse? I have heard of accursed items which grant all manner of mysterious symptoms, but I'm afraid I know little enough of magical ailments."

"No, it's nothing like that."

"You sound very sure." _What is it, then?_ His unasked words vibrated between them.

And for once the sight of undead was a relief, for Anomen's line of questioning was lost as he leapt forward into the fray before them.

* * *

=E=

The tomb Bloodaxe sought (saved for last, lest the dwarf be tempted to terminate their deal prematurely) lay beyond a few twists and turns, and a scattering of skeletons.

Just what had they been guarding? Funerary urns lay split, spilling ash upon the ground, and fragments of pottery patterned the cracked tile with bone. The reek of spoiled meat was surely due the zombified creatures already dismembered across the floor, their rotting flesh not yet liquefying, so not very long ago dispatched.

"This tomb looks to be looted!" Korgan's axe looked just as wild and angry as his eyes as the weapon slashed the air. "The rank, stinking bastards beat us here!"

So his competitors had found a faster route to this area, had they? Edwin stifled a sigh. Why waste time on such pointless pursuits in the first place! The Scroll waited in his pack, far more patiently than he. "You required our aid to plunder this tomb, yet it seems the task is done, thus rendering any agreement null and void."

"Those that deigned to ally with _you_ were found untrustworthy? Ha! Forgive me if I am not surprised. Or sympathetic: I'm sure they simply chose to betray _you_ before you did they." The squire stood in the doorway, hands on hips, as if unaware such a ridiculous pose left him entirely vulnerable to an attack from behind.

The rogue—arms crossed—stared at the knightling without expression. Thinking the same thing?

Caught in a rage, Korgan—fortunate for the boy—did not appear to hear the taunt. "Those grog-blossomed prick-me-dainty's have crossed me one time too many. Stolen out from under me!" He spat the words. "Thrice over their graves I'll be dancing, I swear!"

"This dance will be a solo endeavor; your problems are yours alone." No reason to linger. Far more valuable things could be accomplished with this time; at last armed with the Scroll, the stifling city and its invasive regulation of magic could be left behind, for Sajantha need not stay here to gather gold.

Strange that she'd said nothing. Once she would have spoken up for the wretched soul—or at the very least remonstrated Edwin for his attitude—but she only stood with arms folded, head lowered.

Until she noticed his gaze. "I'm tired," was all she said, small and pale in her dark clothes, a sentiment that echoed in his own aching head; halved, the effects of the potion would not carry them so much longer, and they did not need to be down here when it wore off.

He stepped to her side and took hold of her shoulder. "We will meet back at the Coronet. And… perhaps dredge up these partners of yours whom so need killing." The dwarf had come through on his end of the deal, after all, and it would not hurt to retain his axe for future use; with his prize in hand, Edwin could afford to be generous. " _Ti tenpiswo mi si."_

The teleport carried them both outside the Coronet, and Sajantha stumbled a bit as he released her.

"What..." She blinked at their surroundings, squinting at the sudden light. "You just—did you just leave them all down there?"

He gave a shrug. "They are not so incompetent as to lose their way back." The sun still shone strong: this grave-escapade had taken a good deal of the day but not all of it, and their return path would take but a fraction of the time. "It will allow us at least an hour or two: you may rest, and I may look upon the Scroll." Already fatigued, his head still pounded from the exertion of spellwork, but such concerns were trivial compared to what awaited him.

Sajantha did not look half so pleased as she ought. "That place is a maze, full of monsters, and you think it's alright to just _abandon_ them there? And you made _me_ do it with you. I—I can't believe you just left them!"

"Truly, you 'cannot believe' it?" Interesting choice of words, from one who'd before been so gullible. "You imagine their feelings are of some import to me?"

"You're not still worried about them turning on us? It's not as if you're doing much to prevent it." She shook her head. "Wouldn't it be simpler, to keep the peace?" As annoying as her idealistic challenges always were, this familiar intensity was still improvement to the dullness of a blank gaze fading off.

He straightened his sleeves. "If they should wish to challenge me, I will be ready. It gets no simpler than that." There were far better grounds to battle on than such tombs, especially if her safety must also be factored in.

In the late afternoon lighting, 'twas clear the damage the vampire had done, her torn clothing still bloody.

"Have the druid take you shopping." At least that one had her priorities straight. "It seems you require an upgrade already; this is what happens when you settle for inferior offerings." Quality protection was worth the price: the vampire's claws had ripped through that flimsy covering as if she'd worn no armor at all. "Bad enough you look like a mangled street rat, but the next time someone tears into your chest, at least try to make it difficult for them."

Her lips pressed together as her gaze dropped away.

"Now, if we could only discover from whence to procure you some good sense." How many potential problems would this avert? The shadow guarding her could only do so much, but it would suffice at least for the eve.

"I'm so tired," she whispered, tipping her head into her hands.

"Then get some rest! Why else did I deign to bring you back with me—I must carry you to your room, as well?" She should take better care of herself, jumping into danger, then insisting others correct the consequences of her impulsiveness!

Her hands fell to her side; face flushed, she disappeared into the inn.

Edwin teleported back to his room at the Mithrest Inn, into the single corner he'd left free of his warding.

* * *

=S=

The other women at the Coronet looked just as hard and haggard as the rest of the clientele, but for the harried serving-ladies and the painted-up strumpets in the hall, and their occupation was easy enough to guess. So it oughtn't be a surprise that Sajantha, who looked like none of them (though just what did she look like, now?), might draw eyes, but surely she could ignore them long enough to cross the large dining area. Had the distance grown? The stairs seemed so far. Just keep walking. Don't look back at anyone.

"Hey! Lookit that blade, there—the little girlie thinks she's an adventurer, does she?" The smile the drunken man gave her was anything but friendly. "Hey, dolly girl: you want to try that sword on me? I've got something of me own you can play with, if yer up for a little joust. Just your size."

Did he expect—? _Oh._ Her cheeks burned as his gesture clarified his meaning.

"No? Still too much for you?" Slapping backs and nearly spilling their ale, the three men shared a chortle.

Hot all the way to her ear-tips, Sajantha ducked her head and walked as quickly as she could past the jeering men. If she could withstand Edwin's verbal assaults, surely nothing else could come close enough to cut through her.

"Running away? Come back when you're ready to face a real man!" Their laughter hung in her ears.

Between highbite and eveningfeast, most tables were empty: less danger to watch for— _good_ —she could hardly focus upon aught but her feet, anyway.

The stairs. The stairs swam in her vision. Almost there, almost there. But when she reached for the banister she nearly missed it, as if the very staircase swayed and buckled.

The potion had worn off. What did that mean? Vampires drained life force. What did that mean, if she hadn't enough left to spare?

Just get to her room. It would be alright to fall apart in her room. Not before that.

She pulled herself up. Paused on the middle platform. Twenty more steps. One foot in front of the other. Twenty times. (Twenty-thousand.)

The hall stretched before her, a mile long blurring into infinity. The torches shivered as she passed beneath them, a whisper humming in her ears.

But she made it.

Inside, she peeled out of her clothes, the dried blood sticking them to her skin. Anomen's spell had proven effective enough to calm the angry red from her wounds, but left them itching. The vampire's claw-marks had receded to faint lines, and the bolt-wound had lost its wetness. Even the scar down her chest had faded to a pale pink, less puckered; her fingers traced only the barest edge of it before nausea clenched her stomach. Cover it, hide it, cover it up—though her clothing was still stiff from blood and gritty from the tomb—nothing to hide behind but the covers, she drew them over her head and squeezed shut her eyes.

The first unwelcome whispers slipped around her—almost close enough to touch—she couldn't shut her ears.

* * *

=E=

Two hours had proven time enough to shake off the lingering fatigue from the vampire's attack, and to confirm none of the divination books he'd yet gathered were effective. Ugh! Why did translation techniques need to be so damnably specific? The Scroll resisted all standard means of deciphering—or at least the handful Edwin had been able to replicate—and clearly required far different tactics than he'd prepared for.

Time to leave the confines of his room, at any rate—even the high-ceilinged noble suite was feeling stifling—nothing was being accomplished there but the resumption of his headache.

While the Coronet would surely only exacerbate _that_ particular annoyance, outstanding business required him here (an additional pity it had to be during the crowds of eveningfeast). Walking into the din of slurred voices and donkey-braying laughter (and that foul odor which could only be a blend of unclean peasants swimming in their own drink and filth), Edwin squinted through the haze.

Ah, there, at a booth by the door—at least no need to walk any farther in—sat the three adventurers, though with the way the squire kept to the edge of the table, he'd just as little interest in suffering this place. (Though it appeared to be the _company_ he found most repulsive, especially as his sneer deepened when Edwin approached.) So obvious, that one, Edwin allowed himself a smirk.

Before he could leverage a satisfying insult against the boy, a weight pressed against his shoulder, and Raviwr's squeaky whisper reached his ear: "She sleeps; yes, she does."

"I did not ask you to speak," Edwin growled in Mulhorandi. Certainly not in front of idiots who had no right to know this information (or that he had requested it)—had they heard?—the rogue had raised his eyebrows. "Now see to your other task." He shook the imp off, and switched back to Common: "So you are all back in one piece, I see. Consider me pleased." Yes, if this business could be concluded with haste, the better.

"A little late for such words when it's clear our lives mean nothing to you!" The only reason the squire did not spit the sentence appeared to be the force with which he clenched his jaw. "You expect any of us to actually believe you?"

"Sajantha looked quite faint on her feet, I thought," the rogue put in. "Would we not have done the same for her, were we able?"

Korgan gave a snort, but the squire at least protested no further (though 'twas tempting to rile him up even more, did time permit).

Edwin glanced between them, gaze lingering on the rogue. (Hn. Perhaps that one might prove of some use after all.) "So is the dwarf to summarily disembowel me or shall we proceed to the next item on the agenda?"

"I did'nae get me treasure nor the satisfaction of slicing yer smug self in twain, ye wimpled lank." The single pitcher beside Korgan named it unlikely any intoxication should deter his aim; one of the few admirable traits of the pugnacious race was an ability to hold alcohol. "Pick one, and dinnae make me wait past the bottom of this glass."

"Did you hear me not? (Or perhaps his pint-size brain requires multiple repetitions.) I said I would meet you here, and so I have." The Bloodaxe could be a valuable asset, especially if all required to retain his service was something so disposable as gold; if it came to a choice to duel the dwarf or his former party members, one option stood out as significantly more profitable to the long-term. Certainly he was less trying a presence to endure than, say, other armored idiots.

Lines of disgust wrinkled the boy's face. "I will have nothing more to do with your illicit dealings! I've half a mind to call the guard on you—" and he transferred his glare from Korgan to Edwin, "and the Cowled Wizards on _you."_

One of Korgan's heavy eyebrows raised. "I dinnae recall asking ye along, lad." He raised his mug to his lips, giving Edwin a glance. "Might be me ears aren't so keen after all. Did ye hear any such?"

"Nothing of the sort." Edwin waved the squire away. "Go call up your guards, then; perhaps _they_ will wish to listen to you. ('Half a mind,' indeed.)"

Face red, the squire stormed away. Unlikely he would follow through on his threat, and if he did, 'twould be all the easier to convince Sajantha to leave this loathsome place.

Korgan chuckled, then clanked down his mug as he turned to the remaining man; the Kozakuran had been quiet enough one might forget he was there. "Ye wish to come along, trap-seeker? Always called Scrooloose 'arrow-bait,' I did; one of yers could catch him right in that mouthy yap."

The rogue gave a shrug and sat back into his seat. "I believe I will remain here. I wish you luck, of course."

Luck. As if they needed rely upon so fickle a thing.

Edwin took a step back, allowing the dwarf space to slide free of the booth. "You have an hour of mine." Time enough for Raviwr to locate the necessary tomes, surely. "I hope you shall make efficient use of it."

Korgan gave him a grim smile and patted his axe. "I intend to, wizard, that I do."

The dwarf had rattled on a bit about his former group earlier as they walked the tombs, but the details (irrelevant, at that juncture) had not remained in Edwin's memory. "Tell me of this group of yours." There were not so many left (from Korgan's own confession), but a clear picture of what they faced would not hurt.

And while Sajantha would have waxed on about inane facts including their favorite past-times and such, the dwarf relayed exactly what information might be necessary in orchestrating their defeat.

What other reasons might one grow close but to uncover that which could be taken advantage of? There was a _reason_ Red Wizards rarely worked in teams.

"And if ye be as 'efficient' as ye be claiming, ye'll have one more 'ancient artifact' added to yer collection, eh? The only spoils I be after are a trio of heads dripping red."

Messy, of course it would be messy, but the dwarf would be the one on the front line, after all. And they carried something else looted from the tombs, did they? Hm. "Very good."

Bloodaxe glanced back as he opened the door, a grin curving behind his beard. "And mayhap I won't be needing to kill ye all anytime soon."

Edwin smiled.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _This was intended to be one long chapter, but then it got even longer o_O and now it is two short chapters. Related: I have hereby appointed Kyn as my extra-spectacular fixer/beta-er. Thanks as always for your astounding advice! :D  
_

 _In reply to the anon user N.L. ~ If you'd like to make a ffnet account I shall happily gush all over you in a PM but I feel as if I ought to maintain a measure of... well, brevity, at least xD here so I will just say *thank you!*; I'm so glad you commented! Especially since now I am able to thank you for your BG1 review as well; I took your advice and I really appreciate all you'd said. I'm so happy you're still following along and took the time to comment… it came at a really valuable time for some personal reasons, too, so just know that it meant a lot. :)_

 _Hope everyone's enjoying the ride so far! If you're enjoying some parts more (or less) than others, please feel free to let me know. ;)  
_


	12. Assets

**[Author's Note]:** _Since I fell behind last month, I figured I'd at least try to catch up a bit and post earlier (so it's the second update this week in case you missed the lich showdown in Chapter 11!). ;)  
_

* * *

=S=

" _You wish to do this correctly when it is your turn, do you not?"_

 _No. No._

" _You have already proven you will not cooperate; see what you force me to do! This needs to be precise. Open your eyes."_

 _No. Her eyes stayed closed. The only defiance she had left._

" _Why do you still resist? Others will pay."_

"No!" The cry shook through her as she thrashed up. _Awake._

 _No._ No knives, no blood, nothing but her pounding heart in the smothering silence. Nothing.

Sajantha reached out—nothing was there—and her hand fisted in the sheets, too weak to draw them closer.

If she squinted, if she tilted her head just right, maybe the bunched bedding could be the shape of a young woman at her side to face the darkness with her.

Imoen's eyes stared out, glittering dark like the blood on her lips. _You will come too late,_ she whispered.

Sajantha squeezed the blanket into a human shape at her side, squeezed it into a locked embrace as she shook. Squeezed her eyes shut. The blanket caught her sobs, muffled them like the inside of her head, filled with the same grainy cotton.

She squeezed until all the shape flattened from them, until it was clear just how empty were her arms.

 _Too late._

The blankets rested limply in her grasp.

 _She's dead, she's dead._ Dead eyes empty staring—

Do you see?

(Better she was dead.)

* * *

Sajantha stared at the torn vest atop the pile of dirty clothing on her floor: the thought of wearing it hadn't grown any more welcome, nor had the blood completely dried. Edwin was right—was he always right?—she ought to have bought the more expensive ones. (Too late.) She'd have to, now. No alternative at the moment but that drab blue dress. At least it was clean.

The sounds of other inn patrons outside her room were far more welcome than the quiet that waited with her; she ducked her head (not looking at the mirror), and reached for the door. But, no—a covering! The cloak had only grown more bloody. She tucked the shawl around her shoulders before exiting to the hall.

"My lady." A figure stepped forward from the shadows, torchlight turning his features familiar.

"A-Anomen!" Safe, he was safe, but her feet had kept moving her closer as if a better look might help confirm it. "I'm glad you're alright!" Gods, that Edwin had just _left_ like that... "The others—Yoshimo?"

"Fine." He spoke the word flatly. "They traveled straight here to share a round." What was wrong? Might he be upset with them—or with her?

And—gods!—and what must he think of her, for going along like she had and leaving them all behind? "I'm sorry; I didn't realize Edwin was going to just take off like that."

Anomen shrugged, then both his expression and his posture smoothed out, softer. "You looked as if you could use the rest; I'd not begrudge that. We managed just fine."

'Rest.' Surely worth a laugh, if she could but summon one.

"I hope you weren't waiting about for me." She touched her head. "What time is it?" Late it must be, for he'd had time to bathe; his brown hair hung just long enough to have dried into small ringlets, framing his face. Bare of armor now, yet still he wore the blade upon his belt, his simple tunic somehow emphasizing his strong shoulders more than even his pauldrons had.

"Just around sunset. The common hall is serving longtable, by the smell of it."

"Where are the others?" Edwin would be off with his Scroll, of course, but Yoshimo? Perhaps he'd be around.

"The rogue I last saw downstairs." Anomen's lips twisted a bit before he continued. "The wizard and that dastardly dwarf headed off somewhere. Killing undead doesn't sate their bloodlust, it seems; they ran off to slay something living."

Those who had betrayed Korgan, it must be. So, Edwin, he'd... he'd found the time to aid the dwarf after all. Something heavy tugged at the edges of her mouth when she tried for a smile. "Perhaps he finally took my words about cooperation to heart."

And the look Anomen gave her said he believed that about as much as she did.

Sajantha hugged her arms. "Well. He's awfully good at all that. I don't suppose he needed any more help." Edwin hadn't even brought Anomen—who knew how to use his sword—why would he have stopped to wait for _her?_

"From what I have seen, 'tis his only real skill." Anomen lost his frown as he turned his attention back to her. "I only wished to make sure you were alright. I... the healing spell. I do not know what..." A loose lock of hair curled against his forehead as he lowered his gaze. "If something ails you, I would take you to the temple of your choice."

"No." Who knew what they would find. Poking at her, examining her... _no no no._ "It's fine."

"I do not think it is," he said quietly, taking a step closer. "I cannot believe that your missing friend is the only one in trouble."

Her heart flipped. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to help." She took in a shaky breath. "You shouldn't. You really shouldn't."

He straightened, adding distance back between them. "I know it is not my place. I meant no offense."

"No, I..." She pulled at the edges of her sleeve. Already unraveling. "Nothing good will come of it." Even if they could (perhaps maybe possibly) actually beat Irenicus... what might they have to do, to get to him? She would do anything for Imoen, wouldn't she? _Anything_. A knight-hopeful could not.

A burning in her chest filled her edges far too tight; it pressed out behind her eyes. "You were right. They're not good company. None of us are." Stealing was not the worst thing she would do—nor the worst thing she had done. "I'd not have us at odds. If you're trying to prove yourself to the Order, you shouldn't be here."

He studied her a long moment. "I did not come to the Coronet because I thought it a place pure and virtuous. Is light not needed most in the darkness?"

So focused on holding back her tears, the laugh came out of nowhere, catching in her throat. "That does rather sound like something from a silly chapbook, you know."

"I do not claim to know aught of the courtly arts; I am a warrior, not a poet." But his face had reddened. "Uncouth as my tongue may be—"

He was trying so hard, wasn't he? Sajantha touched his arm. "I don't think you uncouth." Prideful, perhaps, so focused on appearing proper. "You needn't do that, you know. Pretend you're something you're not? You've nothing to prove to me."

"I would prove that I am serious." But he'd not loosened up at all, still holding himself so tight.

"You came along with a suspect group in the hopes of saving a damsel in distress and didn't give into the urge to tangle with any of them, though I know they sorely tempt it."

"This damsel I am to save… Are we speaking of your friend, or you?"

 _Her?_ "Don't—no. What's wrong with me… it's not something that can be fixed." And hearing it, out loud—it was true, wasn't it? However deeply Irenicus's fingers had sank into her skull… whatever damage he had done… there had been something wrong with her, even before that, this component in her blood (drip drip drip)... not something that aught could be done for.

 _Godchild._

"I…" A pause stretched a trifle too long, as if Anomen struggled for words, and Sajantha looked up to see his gaze fixed upon her. "Since you've experienced so little of Athkatla, perhaps I could relieve you from the slums for a time? I know there is far more to see than what you've encountered."

"Thank you, but I'm really quite tired." No amount of sleep could abate this exhaustion, ground bone-deep.

"You are certain? One of my fellow squires tells me there is a theater troupe of no little talent in the area. Actors, bards, music… if such a thing is of interest to you? The food is not of great quality, but…"

"I look as though my standards are so high, do I?" She lifted (not very far) the edges of her drab shawl. "I can't really afford such diversions." Not in time, nor cost. Not that waiting about in the Coronet was accomplishing anything.

Surprise flashed across his face. "What manner of man do you take me for? You have been spending far too much time in the wrong sort of company." His posture lifted. "It happens I've just come into a small share of coin."

"You oughtn't spend it on me, though." And she oughtn't want to seize it from his hands, add it to the non-existent pile in her own coin-purse. If she even had a purse.

"It is mine to do with as I wish."

"But—why? Why are you doing this? You don't know me. What I..." She swallowed. " _You don't know me._ "

"I would like to," he said simply. "And I would like to show you there is more to this city. If I'm not mistaken, I don't think you've been able to enjoy yourself in quite awhile. I've allowed work to take over my life of late, too. I think it would do us well to get away for a time."

"For one evening. You think that might make a difference?" 'To get away.' It sounded… it sounded so strange. How far could she go, really?

"Allow me the chance."

Sajantha stared at his outstretched hand. "I... but I haven't anything else to wear." Edwin was right; she looked a step above a beggar.

"You think I should be ashamed to be seen with you? You look fine. Though… you look far lovelier when you are smiling."

Truly, Anomen indeed almost sounded as if he took cues from a romance chapbook—Edwin had not been so very wrong with his observation—but there was something so sweetly sincere about him that a smile tugged onto her face.

He smiled back.

* * *

=E=

A light breeze from the sea fluttered his cloak, and Edwin took in a deep breath. This high above the slums, the illusion of fresh air served admirably to distract from their location, and more importantly, helped diffuse the smoke from the bodies. Not that anyone at the Coronet would care overmuch about finding corpses strewn about their rooftop, regardless of their state.

"Har!" Hands—and most of the rest of him—veritably painted in red, Korgan looked up from his looting. "What'd I tell ye, wizard? Yon 'Book of Kaza,' just ripe for the plucking."

 _Kaza?_ The dwarf had specified no such thing! Edwin took a step forward. "The lich?" The _Netherese_ lich? He closed the distance, loose wooden boards clanking beneath him, and reached for the tome before the man could rescind the offer (or smear any more of his bloody fingerprints across it).

Hn. Nothing about the necromantic book appeared inauthentic, though a divination would be required to prove it. Another artifact of exceptional rarity! (Yet even still, _nothing_ compared to the lore within the Nether Scroll. Did that prodigious piece of history not already occupy his translation efforts, this book would be a most handsome prize.)

A pity attempting to untangle the (assuredly accursed) thing's wardings would take far too much time (not to mention the additional headache of translating it); perhaps the stewards of Candlekeep might trade it for entry? Yes, this could prove useful. 'Twas far too valuable to surrender to some undiscerning—and undeserving!—vendor.

"Like it, do ye?" The dwarf chuckled. "Should I leave ye two alone, mayhap?"

Edwin gave a shrug, carefully wiping the cover before depositing it into his pack. "It will serve as compensation."

"Pfah! That be a _bonus,_ ye puffed-up popinjay. We're square, we two."

"I will hold you to this." _Good._ Edwin Odesseiron did not leave debts behind him. "And I shall be sure to inform you should your service be required in the future. What is your retaining rate?"

"Heh. Make me sound a hoighty-toightin' coin lass, eh?" The dwarf grinned to himself, yellowed teeth shining bright from his blood-splattered face. "Nothing less 'n five-hunnerd. Usually insist upon it all up-front, but for ye? Might be I'd make an exception."

"I'm flattered." Sajantha would not care for the expense. Nor perhaps for the 'Bloodaxe.' But this asset was rather satisfying to secure for later use.

All in all, a _quite_ productive day.

* * *

=S=

The inn Anomen led her to was a step up from the Coronet and no mistake: with the fun-loving crowd of commoners and even a noble or two contributing to the lively conversation and laughter that set a strangely unreal tone to the background, it only called attention to the dark divide inside her. _Stop thinking about it._ Anomen was nice enough to try to get her mind off things—and how nearly she had today, when teasing Edwin—but her thoughts kept chasing the same worn trails 'round her head.

A man brushed by their table in a fine embroidered tunic, a haphazard handkerchief tucked in his pocket. Not the sort to be carefully conscientious of where he kept his coins… _Three gold,_ Imoen would guess. _Seven silver._ And she would bump his shoulder as he passed, quick fingers coming away to count the coin.

"My lady?" Anomen had trailed off, was looking at her concern. "What is the matter?"

Sajantha blinked. "Just—just thinking." Not of Imoen's eyes staring out, dark and blank. No. "What do you dream about?"

"I…" His turn to gather himself. "I do not know what to make of your directness."

"Oh. I'm sorry; I didn't mean anything by it, if you don't—"

"No, it is... refreshing." He nodded to himself. "I suppose the same thing that always is on my waking mind."

"What—oh—being a knight?"

He shook his head, gesturing, lips pursed as if he looked for words. "I do not know if I can explain just what it means to me. Have you never had such a dream—a goal?"

"No, not like that. I used to want to be a lot of things: a poet, a bard, a clerk of Oghma, an Avowed of Candlekeep, a Harper, a harp _ist_ , an arch-sorceress... silly things. Nothing I had a real goal how to get anywhere with." Especially after Ulraunt stepped in, banning her from the upper floors with all the tomes she needed.

"That isn't silly. It sounds as if you lacked focus, not desire."

"And what's desire, without any focus?" She swirled the wineglass, a dark whirlpool reaching up the edges. "Just a dream, forever."

"I don't know that there is enough time in a mortal's life to pursue all of what you listed. But you can work towards at least one of them."

"Anomen!" So certain, somehow. "You don't know me—you only just met me. I could be terribly awful at all of it, and you don't even know." Some things on that list had already been crossed off for good.

"I feel as if I do know you. And I should like to know you better." He smiled. "I am sure we can find the path which best suits you. Perhaps you could tell me what sorts of things you dream about?"

Her wineglass broke.

Red droplets flew across the table—across her lap—slowly spreading, darkening (drip drip drip).

Heart hammering, she dabbed at the mess. "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here." Shaking. Everyone could see. "I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have come." The napkin fell loosely from her fingers as she stared at the dark drops. "He... he won't let me go." Irenicus came with her. Everywhere.

 _Godchild,_ his voice oozed in through her ears, dripped down the back of her throat.

"He...?" Anomen straightened. "Has that wizard ensorcelled you? Is he blackmailing you in some way? If you need aid, you have only to ask, and I will see the wretch gets all he deserves!"

"What?" He wasn't—couldn't be—talking about Irenicus. _Wizard...?_ "Oh, no—it's not like that—Edwin's not... No."

Anomen frowned—a trifle disappointed?—expectant, now.

"The man who has my friend imprisoned." Why was it so hard to say his name?

"You speak of one of the Cowled Wizards?"

Oh, right. The _Cowled_ Wizards, that's all she'd told him. (But did they hold Imoen? Or did Irenicus hold them all?) "The monster they took with her." And even that was too much, wasn't it, for the frown on Anomen's face had only deepened, and—gods!—what more might he ask?

"It's hard not to think about him." Quickly, she spoke quickly enough to head any such questions off, and gave him a weak smile. "It's not as if I can just relax. I'm sorry; I must be the worst sort of company. It's so hard for me to focus on anything anymore." Like a tunnel descending into darkness, all her thoughts led to the same place.

Anomen was quiet for a moment. "It is understandable you would be worried for her. But you should not feel guilty about trying to relax. Nor for being poor company. Even did I not have only the fellow initiates to compare you to, I should think you would come out well-ahead."

She looked down, wiping up more of the spilled wine.

"…That is a compliment," he added.

"Oh. Oh—!" He was making such an effort to be nice, and she could barely manage politeness. "Thanks." Who did she have to compare him to, anyway? An angry heartbroken Harper, a simple berserking giant, an unnecessarily jovial rogue, and a far-too-infuriating wizard.

* * *

=E=

A shine reflected off the wooden table in haphazard streaks, certainly not left from any cleaning polish. Edwin slid carefully into the seat, not allowing the sticky surface to contaminate his robes. Best not think about the chair being equally disgusting; 'twas time to study up on cleaning cantrips if he would be spending any time here. (Surely he could convince them to come to their senses and leave this city altogether!)

But Sajantha still was not up, and the lateness of the hour named it unlikely she would be: at least he needn't remain here very much longer before warding her room and attacking the Scroll from a new angle, a far more productive use of his time than sitting about this place.

Of course they could not expect him to partake in these same shabby accommodations; such an establishment as the Coronet was no place for a man of his stature. However drab the guildhall, at least he'd not been forced to rub elbows with the local filth whilst within it. How could they stand it? Suffering such conditions was not worth what little coin they saved.

A figure approached the table. Hm, service even so fast as this was unexpected. "Your finest wine." Oh, yes, this cesspool did not even serve wine, did they? Just as well, it would likely taste of the same piss that—going by the smell—coated the rest of the place. "Never mind." Raviwr could fetch something for him. "I require you not, woman: begone." The shadow did not leave. He finally looked up.

No serving wench, this, the druid stared down at him, hands on hips, surely ready to ruin his mood with some order or another. "Where is Sajantha?" she demanded with a face carved from stone, a countenance that would look at home upon a statue (if that stony expression had been carved by a sculptor just as brittle and angry). "She is not with you?"

As if it were not obvious she was not! Edwin returned her glare. "Were we to be sewn together? (She would have me overseeing the girl's trips to the privy, too?)"

One could practically hear the druid's teeth grinding. "She is not at the privy."

(Gods—what reason had Sajantha to leave her room? Why had she not simply stayed put! 'Twas late evening already, shortly time to ward it. Why else would he even _be_ here?)

"You cannot even keep track of her for the space of a single day?"

Edwin leaned forward, fingers curling around the table-edge. "Do you mistake her for a child, or myself for a nursemaid?"

"If you cannot be trusted with her…"

Heat crept up his neck; his jaw clenched. "Please, finish that sentence, wench. What ultimatum do you dare level upon me? What threat waits upon your tongue?"

"If you aim to be part of the group, _wizard,"_ she sneered the word as if it were an insult, "you will serve as you say. You and Yoshimo—whom I cannot even find!—assured me you would watch her: _where is she?_ "

Where? If the shadow were summoned, it could relay her location, but pulling the guard from her was not ideal, not when she'd for some unknown reason left the premises! There'd been no warning through the creature, nothing through that link save the pressure against the back of his skull from holding a summons overlong.

Blast the girl! Surely she'd left voluntarily, else the shadow would have intervened. But attempts to locate it would require a (lengthy) divination (too tangled a school, bah!).

Ugh. If the Harper kept glaring like that, 'twould surely cause her (if not him) indigestion.

* * *

=S=

The bench in the upstairs hallway held a familiar figure. Bent over a book and a scattering of notes, Edwin's head snapped up as she stepped into the space. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

Had he been sitting here _waiting_ for her? "Excuse me?" Sajantha anchored her feet down so she wouldn't take a step backward. And probably trip back down the staircase. "I don't believe I answer to you."

His own feet moved—as if he intended to leap from his seat and berate her more closely—but he only shifted his weight, ringed fingers tight around his book. "As you fail to answer to all good sense, traipsing about the town without a thought to spare. What nonsense fills your head, for common sense has surely emptied of it!"

What—what was this? She reached out for the wall for balance. "I can leave without it having to be an ordeal. No one's trying to kill me here." No assassins now, no price on her head.

"The moment you believe that is the moment someone succeeds at it."

If only death was the worst thing to loom over her. "It's not as though I've a bounty!"

"Nor have you a way to defend yourself."

A flush of warmth heated all the way to her ears. Of course he'd see her so incompetent as that. And how true—how damnably true! "Anomen was with me."

His eyes narrowed. "As I said."

"Don't judge him—you don't know him."

"Nor do you."

Didn't she? Hadn't Anomen shared so very much more of himself than Edwin ever had? "I know he doesn't think of me as some stupid child!" Where was this coming from? As constant as his suspicion was, it had never come across this stifling.

"No? Does he not believe you need protecting?"

"Aye, from _you!"_ The words were out before she'd bid them, and the dark light in his eyes said perhaps she'd gone too far.

"And is this what you believe?" If his ire had been hot before, 'twas now quite cold, his voice taut as his jaw.

"You—you know I don't." She unclenched her hands, letting out a breath. "I just... I want..." What _did_ she want? She looked away. "I'm not a child, Edwin. Don't treat me like one."

"Bid your knight in shining armor farewell." He waved a hand, as if he could dismiss Anomen—and the whole conversation!—with a single motion. "You have no need for whatever 'protection' he could offer. "

Gods! Did Edwin make an _effort_ to sound this condescending, or was condescension simply his natural tongue? "What the _hells_ did I just—" She bit down on her words: how to translate this into a language he might understand? _"_ _We can use his help."_

"Oh, you think so? How long do you suppose such a man would stand against Irenicus?"

 _Irenicus._ His name lanced through her, sharp and raw; her breath hitched as images rattled in her head ringing together overlaid with Anomen's warm eyes.

No—no more—she closed it down, buried it down (down down down), but it sagged the strength from her. When she looked up, Edwin wore a sneer, an expression at home upon his face.

"That's what you're for, isn't it?"

His book snapped shut. "So, you do not fear to put my skills to use any longer? Good. Now, if only you could do the same with yours; you'd not need to be so reliant upon the rest of us."

"Why should it matter to you whom I rely upon?" His disdain for paladins had always been strong; was that enough to explain this?

"It matters only in that it will compromise your focus. Your efficiency. Your safety. Such distractions serve no purpose but to derail you from your goal."

"Oh?" Her hands fell to her hips. "Well, Anomen and I already found another mission when we were at the playhouse. There's a reward for a missing actor."

"Wonderful."

"But I don't expect you'll want to come, as the only lead is in the sewers." Wouldn't _that_ gall him. "Best keep back and study your Scroll."

"Do not think to tell me what to do."

She raised her chin. "Doesn't feel so good, does it?"

"Sajantha." Was this quieter voice amused, or had his temperament merely simmered to a more bearable temperature? "Are you attempting to play me?"

"I don't know. Is it working?"

"Would you like me to go with you?"

She shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Of course. Will you?"

"Hn. Were you jesting about the sewers?"

"I'm afraid not. But it sounds as if a mage is involved. Probably a laboratory... scrolls... magical items..."

"All of which you will be pawning for gold." He leaned back, head tilted. "Is the squire going?"

"Why, would that factor into your decision?"

His head tipped forward. "I will go. But I've not finished studying my spells for the evening, and armor makes for such a fine conductor..."

"If you can restrain yourself from throwing spells at him, I might even let you keep a book or two." If that would help keep him happy. Though what in the Realms could compete with a Nether Scroll, truly?

Indeed, he utterly ignored her offer and focused upon the first part: "You fear I lack restraint?"

"If you've not a reason. I think you may need incentive to." _Collateral damage,_ Anomen had called it.

A frown tugged down Edwin's lips. "I can control myself."

"Think you could work on trying not to control _me?_ "

"I am trying to ensure you remain safe." With that furrow in his brow, he almost looked confused, as if he'd not connected the two at all.

"By controlling me. They're not remotely the same thing."

His frown deepened to a scowl. "There are far too many things I cannot predict when you are involved. How am I to be expected to account for all the variables you constantly stir up?"

"Chaos. You're trying to bring order to chaos."

He didn't disagree.

A little laugh caught in her throat; she shook her head to clear it. "Don't you know? That's not how chaos works. I learned that one a long time ago. You can't control it. You just try to mitigate the damage."

"Being too afraid to risk any damage is not a solution." Edwin shook his head. " 'Child of Chaos...' "

"Chaos? I was talking about wild magic. Not—not Bhaal." _Chaos will be sown from their passage._ "I'm not a Bhaalspawn."

"Nor a child, you say. Only one of those sounds anything like truth."

 _Bhaalspawn_. Gods. Not now, not right now. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She turned around. "I'm going to bed."

"You cannot run from this."

 _Run_ , said her father, tears lighting his eyes. His last words to her—his last _words—_

 _Run._

* * *

A shadow followed, spilling across the tile floor before her; Sajantha's feet tripped to a stop, but she didn't turn around. "He wouldn't have lied to me." Her hands came up over her mouth and she shook her head. "My father. He couldn't have." ' _If you are reading this…'_ How could he have kept such a thing from her? Her _whole life?_

"You refuse to believe ill of him. I understand." Edwin's voice was low, but close enough to hear quite clearly. "This does not make a truth."

"You _understand?"_ She turned around to find Edwin _right there_ —well, his chest—she had to look up to meet his expressionless gaze. "Do you, really?" _Could_ he? "What are your parents like?"

"My parents?" He drew back, chin tilting up. "Highly placed, even amongst the nobility; our name goes back to the nation's founding."

"What are they _like._ Not what are they."

One shoulder shrugged. "It has been some time. We were never close."

"I'm sorry." Learning so little of her own mother had left far too large a hole, all this space with nothing to fill it. "It's so much harder, without the chance to know someone." (How much less had she known her father?) She walked past Edwin to claim his earlier spot at the bench, and received an annoyed look as his gaze followed her.

"You miss your own family, so you wish to discuss mine?" He stepped after her, only to gather the papers left beside her on the bench: he folded them into his book and shut it probably harder than he ought; the pages crinkled. "There is nothing there worth mentioning. Why, do you believe I would be stronger had I so indulgent a caretaker as Gorion to coddle me through my formative years?" He stared at her a moment, then glared over his shoulder at the empty doorway, before sitting down on the now-cleared side of the bench.

" 'Stronger,' " she repeated. _Life is strength,_ said Irenicus. "Is that the goal, then? The purpose of living, strength?"

"To survive, it is. And I was taught all I needed to do so. Wizards are trained from a young age in Thay. Very young. My parents were not a part of my childhood; I do not recall them there. Do you believe this has done aught but strengthen me? How would it have helped me to mope about as you, weeping over their absence?"

"You were very young, you said. How could anyone hold it against you, if you had?"

He glanced away, lips thinned. "I remember nothing of it. As I said."

She looked away, too, stared at her fingers laced together. "That's easier, isn't it? To forget. To pretend it didn't happen, to bury it away. You think those kind of feelings make you weak? What were you just saying, about hiding things? Denying them?"

There was no humor in Edwin's brittle laugh, nor a real smile behind the hand he raised to hide it. "You—"

"You look them in the face and you confront them. That's what you'd tell me, isn't it? Not to bury them deep-down like nothing happened, because they can still hurt you there. Or are you going to lie to yourself?"

"I–!" His hand dropped. "Do not presume to judge me!"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Her eyes heated—how could he think of her like that? "Don't you get it? Understanding is knowing without judging. When have I _ever_ judged you? Are you so afraid of revealing something real to me, as if I might take advantage of it? That's not what friends do. They can trust each other with those secrets, those pieces of themselves."

"Why you imagine I require anyone to look after my feelings is insulting, and presumptuous at best." His eyes pierced into her. "What is the purpose of this?"

"I just... I want to get to know you. All of you."

"You want me to distract you from your problems, you mean. Face your own, and do not presume to dig into others.' "

"That's not what you're doing? Always turning everything around. Well, it works both ways: friends help each other; sharing a burden lightens it. How am I supposed to trust you enough to share things, if you don't with me?" Somehow, the space between them on the bench had stretched wider. "I... I'll trade you a secret. If you will."

"Who goes first?" Suspicious. _With you?_ Had he really said that—almost smiling—just at the start of today? How had she managed to push him onto the defensive?

"I will. You can ask me anything."

Without a trace of a smile now, he was going to tear right into her with surgical precision.

Her scar throbbed, calling attention to the heart pattering fast beneath it. He already knew too much, could hurt her too much.

She shifted, drawing her arms to her sides, and he noticed her tension. Not that it would stop him. If anything, his gaze delved deeper.

"What causes you to wake up screaming at night?"

"You..." Her voice caught. He'd heard her? No—they must have told him. _They'd_ heard her? "That's what you want to know?" Or did he just want to push her away? Her nails dug into her arms. "The details are different. But the parts that are the same? Blood." Her lips pressed together. "Guilt."

"Guilt?" His brow creased. "What have you done?"

"It's your turn." Her voice came out hoarse.

He turned his head, hood almost wholly obstructing his face from view. Would it matter what she asked—was there any answer he could bear to part with? As if whatever she might prise from him would strip him of armor, the casing he'd so carefully constructed around himself.

"You trusted someone, once. And they let you down."

Tense, every line of him, underlining the truth which ached with a certainty in her chest.

"Is this a question?"

As if the answer was not plain enough to see. "I'm not trying to upset you."

"Why should this upset me?" His shrug did nothing to loosen the stiffness of his shoulders. " 'Tis well in the past. I do not repeat my mistakes."

"Trusting's not a mistake. I'm sorry it happened that way, that they betrayed you. But you know the failing was on their part, don't you? It wasn't yours."

He straightened his robes as he shifted away. " _You_ are sorry?" She couldn't hide it, just how sorry; he gave her a disgusted look. "What right have you? (Such masochistic idiocy!) You cannot lay claim to everything which falls outside your responsibility."

"It wasn't your fault to claim, either." She glanced down at her hands. "I'm not in Candlekeep, anymore. I think I've learned that lesson the hardest possible way. But we're not in Thay, either." She reached out, resting her hand against his arm. "So why do you still act like it?"

" 'Why?' " He let out an annoyed sigh, rubbing his forehead. "How can you still...? How has any of your idealism managed to survive through all this?"

She looked away. "I... I don't know what I believe in anymore. But I haven't so many things left to hold onto." Her fingers clenched involuntarily upon his sleeve; her heart missed a beat as he turned towards her. Already drawing her hand back, she shared her expression only with the floor. Too close. Her heart pounded in her ears. So close. He could surely hear it.

Edwin rose, a chill filling the space he'd left, filling the hollow inside her.

 _Please don't go._ Locked inside her, the words pressed out at all her edges—but he'd not heed them—and releasing them only granted him opportunity to grind them beneath his heel on his way out.

"Why do I still act like I am in Thay?" His hood hid his eyes as he stood above her. "The lessons of the past serve to prepare us for the future: this is not something to forget. Nor ignore. No doubt your dreams will continue until they are heeded."

A haze of blood swam across her eyes, blurring as she shuddered; she closed them. And opened them to an empty hall: no red, none at all.

* * *

She should move. Her neck had begun to ache, resting against the back of this wooden bench. She should move, but where was there to go? The whispering tinkle of music tickled Sajantha's ears, a memory of the Five Flagons and Anomen, a strangely bright smear in a day of darkness.

She should move.

The obnoxious sounds of drunken patrons clamored loudly as someone opened the door atop the stairs, then retreated to a distant roar when the door closed. Footsteps grew in volume.

She should move. If it was someone trying to kill her.

Blinking her eyes, Sajantha sat up to see Jaheira approach.

"You are alright," the Harper said. Surprised? Relieved?

"Of course I am." Jaheira thought so little of her as Edwin did, didn't she? _Nor have you a way to defend yourself._ Pathetic, that even an evening enjoying herself— _trying_ to—meant danger.

Sajantha stared at the floor, at Jaheira's boots, dried with mud. Where had the druid been all day? But somehow the question was too heavy for her tongue to lift.

And Jaheira asked it, first: "Where have you been?"

The question sent her mind skipping like a stone across flat water, from bones crunching and flesh squelching in ancient crypts, to Edwin smiling seated beside her on the sarcophagus, to Edwin glaring seated beside her on this very bench. "I…" Where had she been…? She kneaded at her forehead, trying to relieve the pain behind her eyes.

"Yoshimo said you went to the Five Flagons."

Yoshimo!—but how did... oh. He'd followed her, hadn't he. Since Jaheira had asked him and Edwin to watch over her. And Yoshimo... _Yoshimo_ had.

Sajantha cleared her throat. "Aye. I met someone, a squire of the Radiant Heart. We went to see a play there." Well, part of a play. After she'd embarrassed herself into spilling wine all over her dress.

"Indeed?" The moment it took for the druid's reply meant she'd not been expecting that. Not that much would show on her face, no point in looking up. "A squire." Jaheira sounded somewhere between amused and bemused. "What do you think of him?"

 _Anomen._ That was safe ground, something that didn't hurt to think about. Sajantha looked up. "He's training to be a knight. And so proper! But he's quite pleasant."

"Hm. You could surely use something pleasant, I think. Do you intend for him to join us?"

The boots caught Sajantha's gaze again. "He doesn't know..." The words dried up on her tongue, all the possibilities: there was so much he didn't know. About her. About any of it. _I would like to,_ he'd said, for he didn't realize the dark depths of it, the pieces that were safest kept inside.

"Perhaps there are some things best left unsaid." Almost as if Jaheira had read her mind. How much did _she_ know? How much did she guess, after all Sarevok had said? (After Irenicus?) Her voice sounded—strangely—quite dry: "Like revealing one is a Harper to a Red Wizard, yes?"

But the humor of it didn't hit right, not when _Imoen_ had been the one to accidentally do that. Sajantha bit her lip. "Right." A follower of Helm! Helm would have no mercy for someone like her. Why was she trying to pretend?

Because all of this was a truth too difficult to stare into the face of. _Run,_ roared her father. _Run!_

"Well." A clod of dirt fell from Jaheira's boot as she shifted her weight. "It's late. You'd best get to sleep."

Sajantha stared back down the hall towards her room. "Right."


	13. Miasma

=S=

Sajantha squirmed, the frayed sheets chafing against her legs.

A darkness, a _coldness,_ grew at the corner of the room. _No._ Nothing was here: her room, just her room (not a cell). But some kind of _weight_ gathered, as if the end of the mattress tilted—tugged, _pulled—_

 _Don't look._ Darker. A shadow, a _shape—_

"No." She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. _Don't look_ because she didn't need to, could see _him_ even behind her eyelids, could see him holding out the knife. "No more."

" _You only make it harder on yourself. Very well. We do this again."_

(again again again)

"No!" Voice ripped from her throat, Sajantha screamed and thrashed and threw her weight and a slam knocked the air from her—the ground, she'd landed on the ground—and she kicked free of the clinging sheets.

The shadow had lengthened— _no it didn't not here not real—_ taller, wider, it _stretched._

Something, anything—there, beside her! She hurled her pack—its contents spilled across the floor, ruining her aim—the leather bag thwacked against the wall. Had she… had she hit it? Was it gone?

Nothing moved; the room was still.

Panting, Sajantha sagged back against the door; it rattled with her harsh breaths. A dream… had that been another dream?

Her hand slipped against her sweaty forehead; she fisted it in a tangle of hair. Whatever that was, it wasn't _him:_ Irenicus was not here (nor was Imoen).

 _No._ Nothing here. No reason to stay in here, either. She pushed off the ground with shaky arms and re-lit the candle (just how had it gone out?); the flame jumped about, jarring the walls as she readied her gear.

She blew out the light and (didn't look back) hurried out—

Straight into someone.

* * *

"Oh!" Sajantha halted—barely!—before she collided with the woman leaving the next room. "Sorry—I'm sorry!"

"No worries there. You feeling better, hon?" The woman's voice was kind without being condescending. And… familiar.

Oh! 'Twas the same person she'd stumbled into _yesterday_ morning (when shadows had swallowed the walls and almost her sanity). Sajantha's face heated. "Aye. Sorry about that, too…" A mess, she was such a _mess_ that even strangers could see.

But this stranger didn't look put off at all—far from it!—she gave an easy shrug. "Don't apologize. You gave me a bit of a fright, is all." The woman was not nearly so old as she'd earlier appeared—likely somewhere close to Sajantha's own age—but layers of makeup made any more accurate answer a mystery. "I thought might be you were in trouble. A place like this, you know…" Another shrug, and her sheer wrap slipped a bit down her shoulder.

"I…" Sajantha bit down on her lip. "I suppose I am, but not in the way anyone can do anything about."

"I know that feeling." But there wasn't any self-pity in her commiseration, just an understanding, and when she leaned forward, a light sparked in her hazel eyes. "So we focus on the things we _can_ do something about, yeah?" Full lips curved up as she pulled springy dark hair back into a ponytail. "How we _look."_ She thrust one hip out, her curves making the motion far more fluid than any Sajantha could attempt. "How we _act."_ But then she stopped to grin—probably at whatever foolish expression had wound up upon Sajantha's face.

Sajantha gave her a nod, something to do instead of stare. "I think I know what you mean."

And mayhap she did: advice she'd heard before, actually. _Shoulders back!_ Gellana at the Friendly Arm had told her and Imoen with a thwack of her walking cane. _Chin up! It's all in your carriage._

"You pretend at something long enough, you can almost forget," the woman continued. "It don't matter what's behind; it don't matter what's ahead. You just take it one day at a time."

One day at a time. Day after day, over and over (again again again)—

Sajantha gave her head a shake as the pressure built within it. "One step at a time." Her voice cracked. _One foot in front of the other._ One gold at a time. And—and the troupe leader had promised them nearly a _thousand_ if they brought back the actor and his stolen gem! _One step at a time._ Sajantha straightened.

"That's it." The woman blurred as Sajantha dabbed at her eyes, but her voice was full of encouragement. "Name's Lacey."

"Sajantha." With a last wipe over her eyes, she whipped her hand away from her face to shake Lacey's hand, but—gods!—just how did her loose hair manage to tangle it? Her fingers caught within the tangled strands and took an embarrassing moment to shake loose; she let out a weak laugh and tried to smooth her hair back.

Lacey's laugh was far fuller, but her amusement held no malice. "You poor thing. When's the last time you had a good brushing, huh?"

"I… I'm honestly not sure." Her curls had always been too thick to make it an easy task (before), and on the road, it had hardly been a priority, though Imoen had helped whenever they… they…

"Tell ya what. You're staying here, yeah?" She gestured, a thumb pointing to Sajantha's room. "We've some oils I'll send over, get some of them ornery tangles out. Brushing won't do no good, otherwise." And Lacey surely knew: her black hair was full of tight twists and curls she'd managed to keep looking fresh and springing.

"Lacey." Austere as her voice, a woman in a long dark dress stared down the hall towards them, her own hair pinned back enough to tighten an already stern expression.

The smile stayed on Lacey's face, but something dimmed behind it. "I gotta go. Be seeing ya." A pat and a squeeze on Sajantha's shoulder, then she'd started to spin in a twirl of pink silks. " 'Til then—" And in a swift motion she'd untied her hair and left the ribbon in Sajantha's hand before bounding down the corridor.

Sajantha stared down at the pink ribbon for a long moment. It didn't match anything she wore, not at all—not like it matched that same shade of Lacey's painted nails (and Imoen's)—and there came the queerest feeling as if she oughtn't use it, ought to keep it somewhere where it couldn't get dirty. But…

She lifted a hand to her hair. Hair that was so very long, now; it'd had time (day after day after day) to grow to her shoulders.

 _Shoulders back!_ Gellana's creaky voice reminded her, and Sajantha wove the ribbon through her hair, then straightened.

Right. Time to meet up with the others, pick up Anomen at the Temple District. And they could stop at a trader, turn in her findings from the tombs—not that she'd been able to carry so very much as the others—but they'd still be worth _something._ And then, by tonight: a thousand gold! For a trip through the sewers. And a likely showdown with a mage.

But Edwin would be there, and it was difficult to imagine a mage who might ever give him trouble (except for one).

 _Edwin._ He was still coming, surely; he'd never broken his word. But… what manner of mood might he be in?

Sajantha headed downstairs. At least Anomen would be happy to see her.

* * *

Was this the same _city?_

Stepping across the bridge that separated the north of the city from south was akin to stepping into another world; the buildings of the Temple District shone as reflective as the cross-ways canals beneath, their domed tops glittering gold, built high and proud to catch the sun.

Sajantha closed her mouth, drawing her gaze away from the impressive skyline before she walked into one of the many silver-polished guards on patrol. It was almost like taking in Baldur's Gate for the first time, gawking like some starry-eyed bumpkin!

Almost.

She stared instead at the patterned stone walkway. With no railings and only the lowest of ledges, the bridges across the canals required a bit of attention: losing her footing was about the only danger she'd encounter with this many guards about. No wonder Yoshimo had said she'd be safe here! Not that Edwin had looked so very happy about that… though when did he look happy about anything?

But her mind took only a moment to summon the image: _the Scroll._ Right. And she'd taken that from him today, making him come along—to the sewers!—of course he'd be in a delightful mood.

Though _he'd_ taken all the good humor Lacey had left her, first narrowing his eyes at her hair before downright _glaring_ at her clothing, wasting no time before launching into one of his lectures about proper gear. Leaving the group behind to gather the armor he wouldn't shut up about had been strangely satisfying. More so than being there to see the coin exchanged would have been, certainly.

Sajantha frowned at the ground as she nibbled on the honeyed treat Yoshimo had brought her. 'Dorayaki,' he'd called it, a flat-cake filled with red-bean paste. Sweet enough that Anomen would _surely_ enjoy it, only somehow naught was left but the crumbs on her fingers by the time she arrived.

Two towering armored statues—gods, they must be fifty-feet high!—stood in vigil, announcing the Radiant Heart's headquarters with enough presence that she almost missed the actual Order member greeting her from far closer.

"Be welcome unto the Order of the Radiant Heart." The guard at the top of the steps gave her a nod, a long dark braid slipping free beneath her helm. "How may I—"

"I can take it from here, initiate." Anomen—oh! He'd just emerged from the grand doors, and jogged down the steps to reach her. Hand at the back of his neck, he scanned the streets behind, and Sajantha turned to look as well, even though 'twas obvious what he searched for: "I was not expecting…"

Her, all by herself? "Everyone's down the way at one of the temples, exchanging supplies." Sajantha pointed, rather vaguely: which one had it been, again? "I thought I'd arrive sooner, and… well, I've never been to the Order before." But perhaps that was terribly impolite to impose like that? She should have sent word, or just forced herself to wait with the rest of them.

"Ah!" Anomen perked up a bit. "Would you like a tour?" He held out his hand for her to follow.

The heavy doors behind them shut out the sound of wind and water, and when Sajantha stepped onto the red path carpeting the center of the main hall, a strangely light fragrance teased at her nose.

"There's flowers!" In deep bowls lining the stairs into the sunken hall and in garlands strung between the pillars, the white star-shaped flowers wove over deep crimson banners, lightening the mood and the air itself. She took in a deep breath. "Gardenias, right?"

Anomen paused. She'd managed to startle him again, hadn't she? "I could not say. I know little of such things."

"We had some at Candlekeep, in the gardens. They're a symbol of peace and love."

"Candlekeep? I thought you were from Baldur's Gate?"

Her heart sank. "I'm… not really. Not anymore. It doesn't matter."

"Here." He reached out and plucked one free. "It seemed to cheer you for a moment."

"I… thank you." She brought the velvety petals up to her nose. Memories of her home (not her home) spun about in a soft haze. "Let's… let's get on with the tour, aye?" Before he asked any more questions.

Cloth-robed initiates and plate-mailed paladins passed by, all with great purpose and grave faces. Though surely they weren't always so stiff; Imoen had always thought the same of the monks—that they never had any fun—but that was hardly true: you just had to know how to poke it out of them.

And again—this time unbidden—the image of Edwin smiling with the Scroll popped into her mind. Sajantha bit her lip. _Fun._ Right. Imoen had just never understood how books could be fun.

"I don't know that it's especially interesting elsewhere." Anomen shrugged, as if apologetic; he must have noticed her fading attention. "Bunks in the sleeping quarters, tables in the mess hall… there is nothing special about the accommodations, outside the main hall."

"I don't know about that!" She focused back on their surroundings: red banners matched the runner beneath their feet, and candlelight on each pillar lent the sleek white marble a golden glow, a curious blend of warmth and cold, of softness and hardness. "It's all rather grand, isn't it? So this is your home?"

"I lodge here, aye. My family has an estate outside the Gem District, but I... rarely visit."

"Gem? That sounds quite fancy."

"Aye, our wealth once belonged there. Now the place is rather gutted out; it's little more than a large hovel." His eyes flicked to the window they passed by, then away. "There is little for me there; I am grateful the Order has welcomed me—as true a home as any I've known—and a truer family."

"I suppose. We don't really get to choose our family. Imoen said, 'family's what you make of it.' And maybe those kind of bonds are stronger, after all." Her father... her _father._ She squeezed shut her eyes, breathing fast through her nose. Peace, here. Peace. Don't think about anything else. Anomen was talking.

"…I traveled as the captain of our delegation, and acted as a mentor to the novices. We do function as a family, of sorts."

"You don't seem so very old. I mean, to be in charge. Pardon."

"Well, the recruits are younger yet. I'm actually fairly old, as far as squires go." His fingers tapped against the pillar beside him. "My path to knighthood has been full of far more detours than most."

"Spoken like a grizzled veteran!" Just how old was he?

"Aye. When most squires are in their teens, and I… am not."

Like Edwin had to point out he'd already been instated as a Red Wizard by her age. What had she accomplished, in twenty-two years? "Everyone's path is different. There's far too many curves and hurdles and hills to compare any two together; I'm sure you worked hard every minute of it."

He gave a firm nod. "So I did. And soon I will prove myself worthy of Judgment."

" 'Judgment.' " Quite the heavy word, made even heavier by the weight that had dragged down his voice. "Is that where they tell you you're worthy of knighthood?"

His lips thinned. "Or if I am not."

* * *

=E=

Tall boots kept the dark water (best not to think of the elements which composed it, even if the stink had not given it away) from soaking into Edwin's clothing—bah! This was _not_ what he'd had in mind upon assuming this style—though the bottom of his cloak had assuredly become a sodden reeking mess the moment they'd descended unto this loathsome place.

Piles of refuse and waste clung to the curved sides, and just as unbearable as the smell was the way the walls magnified every blasted sound in the sewer tunnel tenfold and reverberated as if the stone itself were speaking: the druid became a chorus of cawing harpies.

"If you are to be a part of the team, I expect you will keep to your word."

Edwin grimaced. Too early for this, far too early. But was there any time of day at which the woman's words would be welcome? Her voice was far too abrasive to do aught but aggravate his headache. "Are you the mother hen of this maladjusted family, determined to peck us all into order? Gnash not your beak at me, woman; I'll not stand for it." Still upset—at _him!—_ for the troublesome girl running off last night.

"Pray tell me what role you fill, then—just what purpose do you serve? For if anything should happen to Sajantha that you could have prevented, _I'll_ not stand for it."

As if he did not already have safeguards in place! As if the answer were to insulate her from danger instead of equipping her to face it! But they all of them treated the girl as if she were made of glass, and this would do far more damage to her than anything most enemies might manage.

Jaheira nodded down the tunnel. "Take a page from the squire's book; he seems very committed to his duty to keep her from harm."

 _Pfeh._ "He will not be with us long."

Sajantha walked with the Helmite up ahead: in converse, for the way they angled towards each other. What could she possibly have to talk about with that imbecile? Those holy-order types could not even think for themselves, never mind hold an extended conversation.

"You look as though you are plotting some end for him," the rogue said.

"I am simply walking." If the squire should fail to feel the weight of his gaze, 'twas simply one more sign of the oaf's ineptitude. He transferred his glare to the rogue. "Should you not invest your observations in trap-seeking? Try to detect them _before_ they are activated this time."

"Eh…" The barbarian scratched his head. "Minsc wonders: who would lay traps in the sewers?"

"The same dimwitted mage who thought to set his lair in them." Likely any such defenses would prove magical in nature, which would require his own vigilance.

"My eyes are always peeled." With a mocking bow, the rogue broke away from the rest of the group, attempting at last to make himself useful.

Edwin quickened his steps. The two currently most likely to set off a trap in their obliviousness walked at the head of the group, increasing their odds of doing so tenfold. Even if the rogue slipped ahead of them, he might not find everything (even on accident).

"There's no reason you ought to feel compelled to obey simply because he's your father." Soft-spoken as Sajantha's voice was, the shape of the tunnel echoed it back with extra dimension; the two could be heard well before Edwin caught up with them. Enemies would be able to hear them, as well.

(Not to mention the torch she carried made her stand out as an ideal target! That leather armor—the most the druid had been willing to spend—would not stop much, would it? Bah! Was he the only one among them with anything passing for a brain?)

"Parents don't always know best," she continued. "They don't always know so much as we think they do."

"I never thought him so all-knowing as that. Helm sees all which my father does not. The man has been little better than a drunkard the greater part of my life; I was not so very old when I realized it."

Parents. They were discussing parents. And quite… in-depth. Had Sajantha yet revealed any of her own past to him?

The squire shot a look over his shoulder. "Have you something to say, Wizard? Or do you prefer to lurk about in the shadows? I did not think you had such interest in my personal affairs."

"As if your petty problems are worth my attention!" If anything, these weaknesses he carelessly revealed would be taken note of to make use of in the future. However much more tempting the thought of a single lightning bolt, to fry him within his metal boots. 'Twould take little more energy than this, a bit of fur, a glass rod (he had confirmed his components stocked last night), a simple flick of the wrist, and...

Sajantha glanced back. As if she knew the direction of Edwin's thoughts, she gave him a small smile and a slight shake of her head.

"Keep your eyes upon the tunnel," he snapped. All manner of disgusting creatures lurked about in dank pits such as this. As if suffering the stench was not taxing enough!

"You too should recall your attention to where it belongs, Wizard. Don't you have some scrolls to press your nose into?"

"If you press _your_ nose into my business once more, you will lose it!" Bah! This was not a threat worthy of his ability. And he could not remain behind them without accusations of eavesdropping. (As if anything they discussed might ever be of interest to him!)

His glyph went cold.

The rogue turned around to face them and lifted his bow.

* * *

=S=

Air whistled past in a keening note almost high enough to _hurt;_ Sajantha's hand flew to her ear, already off-balance when a lurch knocked the air from her—nearly knocked her from her feet— _Anomen!_

"Ambush!" His voice rose above the excited shrieks and gobbling cries that had begun to howl around them, something familiar beneath the crazed echoes. He shoved himself in front of her just as his shield snapped back with the force of an arrow.

Sajantha crouched back, not that the damp wall offered any better cover. What was going on! Her flickering torchlight hardly helped illuminate the deep tunnel, and those cackling high-pitched noises seemed to echo in every direction. Who— _what—_ and more importantly, _where?_

A fervor of splashes erupted behind them, a battle-cry bellowing: Minsc was charging, but how could he see? Her infravision outlined something that… that couldn't be real…

 _Yoshimo._ Her heart sank somewhere low as he readied another arrow. His expression so blankly neutral, his eyes just as blank. _Blank._

"Traitor!" Anomen leapt forward, two more arrows whizzing by them. "You will rot in the Abyss for—"

The torch fell with an angry bubbling hiss as Sajantha jumped after him, and the water eagerly gulped the light. "No!" She grabbed his arm, and Anomen halted mid-lunge, his shield snapping back with another arrow. "He's _enspelled,_ it's not him; you can't—"

A light bloomed upward—turning the tunnel as daylight—and revealed Minsc rushing forward, his sword aloft and a disbelieving cry upon his lips as he closed in on their friend-turned-foe.

Sajantha whirled behind her: _Jaheira_ had just finished casting the light; _Edwin_ was casting something altogether different. " _Denthanus claxic dout ricin!"_ He pointed.

Yoshimo convulsed, his bow dropping from his hands as he lurched forward. Oh—oh, _no—_

Minsc staggered, too, wavering on his feet as if drunk, though in but a moment they'd both regained their energy and equilibrium, shoving and fumbling and _running,_ weapons forgotten. _Fear—_ only fear!

And the archers—thank the gods!—ignored their frenzied flight, the hail of arrows still focused upon their other four targets.

Anomen's shield kept her crushed against the wall, but she could peek out just enough: with the light, the arched opening up ahead was clear to see, an entry to the side-room their attackers hid in.

 _Kobolds!_ That's what those sounds were, of course! They yipped and cried as a bubbling fog spewed forth from the archway, something malicious in its heaviness, in its sickly yellow.

And their friends' terror-fueled flight would take them right towards it.

"Anomen!" Sajantha pushed off the wall and shouldered him into motion. "Cover me!"

A brief rush of cool air swept against her as she ran: Jaheira's wind-wall deflected arrows, blowing some off-course where they sizzled into the wet ground. Easy to track even in the corner of her eye, most of the fire arrows followed Anomen, lighting him in short bursts.

 _Almost there, almost there._ Holding her breath, she focused on her feet, unable to sprint any faster lest she slip. Something strong and slimy slithered up and seized her attention as surely as it seized at her leg: Sajantha kicked and hopped 'til she shook it free. What—?

Entangling vines! Splashes and cries around her named others not as lucky: clinging vines and tendrils looped and strangled as some pulled the kobolds' faces beneath the shallow water.

 _"Minsc!"_ With a renewed burst of speed, Sajantha maneuvered in front of the ranger—gods, he seemed even more gigantic when he was barreling down on her like that—and in a sinking moment the truth hit her: she couldn't stop him, a fact that hit as hard as he was about to hit her. She dodged at the last second, reaching for his arm in an assuredly futile attempt to turn him; with a single thrash, he struck her back—would have knocked her right off her feet, if she'd not tangled right into—Yoshimo!

Eyes which had been blank just a minute before now shone with a terror just as vacant; the rogue mindlessly struggled against her, breaking free only to reverse direction back the way they'd came. Safe, at least he'd be safe there.

Most of the kobolds were taken care of, so she had a moment to catch her breath; Sajantha squinted to peer through the fog. _Minsc,_ where was _Minsc—_

Somewhere in the mist came the distant chanting of Draconic's familiar tones, albeit in a strangely guttural voice. The mage?

"Tiger-head!" Raviwr's voice rose above the din.

Something bright streaked towards her, and she spun out of the way: behind her, bricks melted, dripping down the wall in smears of pungent yellow.

* * *

=E=

A _rakshasa?_ Something stronger than a cloud-killing spell, then: the damned things boasted an obnoxious amount of magical immunity. The arched opening it hid behind was too narrow an entrance to comfortably close in, certainly with such little visibility as the fog afforded. Edwin grimaced, moving along the wall to establish the ideal radius. " _Aussir skaeren bivnix di ixen."_

Red-tinged smoke curled out from the room with white fire sparking within it, and the hot vapors rolled back over him, their darker colors overpowering the yellow fumes even as acidic pockets burst.

The hiss of an acid arrow flew past. Ha! Tracking its trajectory backward revealed the faint nimbus of spell protections. Protections that the rakshasa surely kept refreshed, preventing the buffeting fogs from doing their job and dissolving its skin. _Not for long._

"Sajantha." Where was she? If that useless Helmite still corralled her against the wall—but, no, he was playing arrow-bait with the kobolds. While she ran around and— Edwin's jaw tightened. " _Sajantha!"_

What was the fool girl attempting? To herd the two dimwits floundering about? Bah! The—the _idiocy!_ A veritable circus of buffoons! _Alone,_ he worked best alone—

Another arrow hissed by, near enough for his eyes to burn from its residual potency; he pressed his back against the wall and cursed.

One more round lost waiting for her: their foe was back on the offensive again! This would be swiftest ended with a dual attack that allowed no chance at recovery, but that required the use of a certain bard and her wand ( _surely_ she knew wherefore he'd summoned her).

The next spell struck close enough to activate his protections: an ice-bolt veered, deflected into the ground behind him, where it crackled the waste-water into freezing and let out a decidedly un-spell-like squeak.

He turned: a trail of white-rimed sludge had thickened to ice around a pair of small boots; he seized one of Sajantha's flailing arms as she teetered, and her other came up to clench at his sleeve.

"I'm stuck," she explained unnecessarily, her tone somewhere between appalled and apologetic.

As if there were time for this! _"_ _Morne svern."_ The heating charm must have done its job, for he pulled her free without further protest, just in time for the warning to itch through him: _fire._

Whirling his back to the blast, his cloak absorbed the flames, if not the force, of the spell; the blow jolted him against Sajantha, against the wall.

He stepped back—nothing worse than bruises, if that—but she gaped up at him as if every thought had been knocked from her head.

Gods! How much more time must be wasted waiting upon her? "Your _wand?"_

And she must have required the reminder, for she hurriedly let go of his arm to gather it.

 _Finally!_ The weaves of the spell settled into his mind, and his fingers twitched, ready, as they turned towards their target. "Now."

* * *

=S=

If the magic struck true, she couldn't see, for the cramp tightening in her gut had bent her halfway over, and with a clatter and a splash, the wand hit the ground. One arm held her up against the slimy wall (the wall that buckled melting like the muscles in her legs).

Spell protections glimmering around him, Edwin strode forward and cast into the room at whatever remained.

 _More fire._

The heat from the flames stung her eyes and dried her mouth, and with no barrier between them anymore, the blast knocked her on her backside where the still half-frozen muck welcomed her with a sucking sound, blessedly cool.

But—who had cast the fire this time?

She sat up, scanning for the familiar silhouetted hood-and-cloak. _There._ Checking for dead—or, just in case, for the 'not' dead—that's what he always did.

Sajantha pulled herself out of the filth, gagging as it slid in thick rivulets through her fingers. Ugh! She shook off her hands. Nowhere clean to even wipe them on! Hopefully Jaheira could cast that spell to clear the air again, though even that wouldn't be enough to—

 _Cold._ Cold down her face—she closed her eyes, her mouth—a wet torrent of _cold_ washed all the way down her body, winding through her clothing in thin streams.

A little chirp of a laugh—decidedly impish—grew clearer as the deluge slowed.

Sajantha spat hair from her mouth. The water had flattened her hair into straight strands over her eyes and she had to part it before squinting up at him. _Raviwr._ He'd cast some kind of elemental magic? "Where did you ever learn…?"

The imp only giggled. It _was_ kind of amusing, wasn't it, thinking of the reasons a fire-slinging tarrasque of a caster might require his familiar to keep such a spell at hand.

She gave him a wry 'thanks,' for the little shower had cleansed the worst of the gunk free, at least.

The last time she'd suffered such a downpour had been a fight with Imoen and a wild surge. Sajantha's smile caught; a shiver rocked through her and left a wave of dizziness in its wake. The… the wand. Just the wand. She tried not to cringe as she straightened, as cold dripped down her back.

Oh—but there was Yoshimo—! "Are you alright? And Minsc—" But the ranger stood several paces away, being tended to by Jaheira. _Alright._ They were alright.

"I was about to ask you the same! But you look a bit better than the rest of us, eh?" Yoshimo nodded at the water dripping from her: indeed, an improvement to the rest of them still splattered with the slime of the sewers.

"A friendlier brush with spellwork than yours, certainly." The effects of fear spells could linger on, but the rogue appeared his normal cheerful self. "You musn't keep ending up in the thick of things! If you can't be more careful, I'll have to insist upon taking your trap duty." Being swamped by undead, then being the first the rakshasa had spotted? "It doesn't seem to agree with you especially well."

Yoshimo reacted in mock-dejection to her mock-scolding. "I had not thought you to be so cruel! Please forgive me; we cannot allow such things, of course." But then he gestured, more serious. "Have you a handkerchief?"

The bottom length of her dress, she had _that_ wadded up in her pack _,_ but her pause allowed Yoshimo a moment to withdraw his own and offer it.

She wiped the water from her face. No use dirtying the handkerchief up with anything more. She handed it back—folding it first—before he could notice the spots of blood. "Thanks." The inside of her head pounded, sharp.

* * *

=E=

It took several moments to untangle his weaves and clear the side room of spells, and several more locating the divination spell to ensure the rakshasa had summarily departed. 'Twas difficult to affirm one's victory when the enemy could have returned to its home plane upon its defeat or simply disappeared to strike later. The outsider had surely been summoned—and now _un_ summoned—for the divinations proclaimed no trace of it.

Unsurprisingly no fanfare awaited him, but when Edwin returned to the main passage, he was greeted with not so much as a glance.

 _Hm._ He adjusted his bracers as he scanned the tunnel. The rest of them had managed to stay upwind, so no recriminations at his casting radius should be incoming. No compliments, either, apparently. At least the Thieves' Guild had been properly appreciative of his abilities, for all they neglected encouraging the use of them, as if a mage of his caliber ought be confined behind a desk! (Yet surely _sewers_ could not be considered an improvement…)

"Ooh, my insides! It felt like an army of little Boos nibbling most ferociously." A healing must have restored the barbarian back to his marginally saner self; he let out a groan.

Ah, so the fool had inhaled the spell after all, if not enough to do significant damage. " 'Tis more akin to an acid slowly disintegrating you from the inside-out." The Rashemi was fortunate to catch but the edge of it; he'd have little enough of his brains to spare in such case.

Tending to him with her usual vigilance, the druid looked up at Edwin with that perpetual glare upon her face. Oh, here it would come…

But the rogue stepped between them—and away from Sajantha, who'd no doubt been fussing all over him (or he over her: how had her _hair_ gotten wet?)—and turned toward Edwin. "It seems I must thank you, my _mamushi."_

His _what?_ Ugh. "I have had enough of your snide—"

"I am familiar with your preferred method of problem-solving, no? So," the Kozakuran gave him an unexpectedly deep nod, " _sumimasen."_

Was there some hidden jab to this? "You are saying you appreciate the spell that nearly sent you into death?"

"The spell that kept me from killing a friend. Yes."

Edwin eyed him. Inscrutable as the lout was, 'twas difficult to gauge his sincerity. Well. Even _feigned_ politeness was better than none. "I will not hesitate to use my 'preferred method' should the occasion require it."

"I understand." The rogue bobbed his head. "No good is ever done by hesitation."

"Pfeh. _Nothing_ gets done with hesitation."

The squire returned to them still breathing (a pity), if heavily, and he made a show of wiping his sword before he sheathed it. "The threat is ended: the kobolds have been disposed of." He raised his chin. "Someone should see to their bodies; those enchanted arrows may be of value."

 _"Yokatta."_ The rogue retreated, not so stupid as to miss the Helmite's pointed look at him, though this time his bowed head was _surely_ mocking.

"We are fortunate they did not swarm us in greater numbers." The druid shook her head, a far-off look upon her face. "The last time we encountered them…"

Kobolds! _This_ was what she found worth remarking upon? "Such a strenuous confrontation that it stood out so strong in your memory, hm? (What would they do without my skills?)"

Lips thin, she turned and gave the armored clod a nod. "Your assistance is appreciated, Anomen." Assistance! Yes, for 'assisting' Edwin with a fraction of the work. "Have you long practiced such techniques? You've a strong shield arm."

"Aye, but I am just as skilled with the spear. I should prefer it, though Helm oft requires defense of me."

Unsurprising. "(Hiding behind a shield sounds far more in line with his predilections, 'tis true.)"

The boy rounded upon him with a sneer. "Is spitting bilious fog the only strategy you know?"

He dared—! Edwin clenched his teeth. "Is taunting your betters the way you wish to leave this world? For I will gladly oblige."

"I have—"

"That is enough." The Harper's glare diluted not at all as she divided it between them. "You wish to finish the work of the rakshasa before we even reach our target?"

Perhaps 'twould do to save the boy the chance to rush forward against this mage, as he so clearly yearned to. Let him be the first to fall, then.

"Come," the druid gestured to the squire, "help me see to Minsc."

The fool strode off stiff-backed after her.

Behind them, Sajantha was fumbling around in the filth (ugh, whatever could be worth digging for?) before finding the wand she must have managed to drop. She drew her free hand across her face, a crimson trail left upon her fingers.

Where had this blood come from? "What is the matter with you?" Edwin stepped forward.

She grimaced as she tucked the wand back into her belt. "That's the question, isn't it?"

He frowned. "You wouldn't require assistance if you could channel your own protective spells." She had been out of range of the fog, had she not? And why had she dropped the wand, when he'd slain the rakshasa before it could again attack?

"I don't need to be reminded how useless I am, thanks."

"Let me see the wand." Raviwr had mentioned something about it when they fought Gethras, but the initial inspection had revealed nothing of note—he wiped it upon his cloak (which would need a strong cleansing, anyway) before turning it over in his hands, but nothing appeared amiss about it now, either—perhaps it required a more comprehensive study.

Bah! One more thing to take his attention from the Scroll tonight. Unless… might it not be the wand? Might it be her own unstable channeling of the Weave? It ought not be possible, yet this would not be the first time her magic had failed to conform to rules.

Edwin withdrew one of his own wands, a simple wand of missiles that's loss of a charge mattered little. "Try this. Aim it at the wall. _Levnim."_ He spoke the word without the weave.

Sajantha took it obediently enough, but the eyes that met his were resigned; she braced herself and squinted. _"Levnim."_

Chips of stone flew as the blast knocked a dent into the wall—and knocked Sajantha back, as well.

Hunched over, she straightened slowly with a hand over her face. She looked up at him—what was this look?—and leaned into the wall, sinking against it. "I have to sit down," she whispered, head tipping back. The empty hand that dropped into her lap was flecked with red.

This did not make sense.

"My lady!" Heavy splashes announced the squire's inevitable intrusion.

"What did you do to her?" The Harper glared up at him as she reached them first, and crouched to her knees. "Are you alright, child?"

"Fine—I'll be fine. Just need to… to rest." Sajantha's eyes disappeared behind her hands, and she bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't get much sleep."

"This is not an excuse." His own night without sleep—staying up with the Scroll—had left him perfectly fine (if one did not count everyone's determination to aggravate his nerves, but this was hardly noteworthy).

The squire flit about, no doubt upset she did not ask for his healing. So well had that worked the last time, at least he'd not again press it upon her uninvited.

"Minsc did not get to help in the last fight. Can he help any now?"

"No, it's alright. I'm alright." Sajantha waved the oafs off. "Thanks." Though she took a long moment to return to her feet, holding the wand of missiles out as if even its light weight was enough to unbalance her.

But the over-sized idiot and the over-armored dolt remained shadowing her. Just what help did they believe they could be!

"Well?" Edwin waved them off with greater emphasis. "Surely your rodent's eyes are sharper than your wits; go lend what little aid you may offer to the search." He cut his gaze to the tin-bucket: "If you seek a place your ham-handed 'assistance' will be appreciated—if indeed such a place does exist—'tis not here."

The squire's red face announced his response before his voice could, and the druid (suspiciously or conveniently?) calling for him prompted his mouth promptly closed; he turned with a crisp about-face. Years of ingrained obedience drilled into him? Or perhaps the lad was at last learning his place.

Though as the rest of the group fanned out and Edwin turned Sajantha, 'twas clear the commiserative _look_ she was giving the squire had surely influenced him in exiting with some amount of grace.

Gods! Did all of them require such coddling? An ache had begun on his forehead; the metal of his headpiece was a heavy weight which needed be rubbed away, not that this was the time nor place for such indulgence.

"Speaking of searches…" Ignoring his scowl, Sajantha stepped up to Edwin's side, "how's your progress with the Scroll coming?"

As if _that_ wasn't a blatantly transparent attempt at digging. But then, none would ever call her subtle. Edwin tucked the wand back into his belt. "It is early yet." Damned divination books were little easier to decipher than the ancient language itself would be.

"Let me know if I can help."

"Why would I need your help?"

"I've some experience translating old texts, you know."

"Yes, and you hold such a stunning command of magic currently." Just what in the hells had been done to her? Or… had she somehow done this to herself? _Guilt,_ she'd said. Could this be strong enough a thing to block off her magic? A great deal of information was required before this could be remedied.

Her shoulders sagged as she turned away, quickening her steps.

"I will let you know. If I should require assistance," he called after her. Not that he would ever be so desperate. Nor turn the Scroll over.

She turned around, staring at him without expression. "Good." She resumed her pace to catch up with the others ahead; the squire's steps had slowed, waiting for her.

Edwin grit his teeth. "Sajantha."

* * *

=S=

Sajantha turned, raising an eyebrow. What, now? Another overture to only be thrown into her face?

"I have a healing potion." Edwin announced this as if it were of great note.

"So do I." Healing potions cost the same as a tenday's lodging. And _not_ at the Coronet.

"Sajantha. I will not tolerate this stupidity."

"You, the shining exemplifier of tolerance? It's nothing. Alright? It's nothing." Compared to what she'd been through… it was nothing.

His eyes narrowed. "There are two dimwits who would like nothing so much as to heal you. Why do you not allow them to make themselves useful?"

She glanced back down the tunnel where the others were searching. "Why…?" Which was worse? When all she could focus on was the feel of Irenicus's clammy hands as his magic stitched her flesh back together—but that didn't _cost_ anything, did it, nothing more than a brief loss of her sanity and dignity and Edwin and Anomen would _see…_ "No. I'll be fine."

"Your senseless stubbornness would tax _Ilmater's_ patience; whom does this martyring attitude serve? Must I threaten to shove it down your throat?"

"Would you?" The words had fallen from her mouth before she'd thought them through; with his scowl and grim countenance, he looked ready to do just that.

He pressed the bottle into her hands, voice low enough to send a shiver through her, "Do not test me."

Face heating, she yanked her hands away, gripping the neck of the bottle tight. "How about—how about _you_ don't test _me._ Stop treating me like that, like I'm too stupid to take care of myself. And why are you so angry? If you think so little of me, it shouldn't matter to you. It shouldn't matter that there's bleeding somewhere inside me if it's only coming out my nose, not when—" _Not when it didn't matter to you when it was all pouring out of my chest—_

Her hands spasmed shut, shaking; the bottle slipped in her sweaty hold, a splash of blue over shards of glass, its shatter tinkling in her ears.

Ears. Her voice still rang, thrumming loud as her heartbeat in her ears. Had she said that out loud? Had she—had she—?

A hundred gold painted the floor, no way to scrape it up. He was going to yell at her, keep glaring—

She peeked up.

Edwin held out a bottle. Blue: another potion. "We both have better things to do than waste time with this: _drink it._ (Preferably _before_ mouthing off this time.)"

The floral scent grew even stronger as she uncapped the second potion. "Th-thanks." An apology sat upon her tongue but couldn't quite wriggle free when he spoke as if nothing worth remarking had occurred, as if blue didn't blend into the sewer water between them.

But he spared neither potion a glance, holding her gaze with his too-sharp eyes. "If Irenicus inscribed some manner of rune upon you, a cursed glyph—this could explain your difficulty casting."

She coughed as the sweet liquid choked thick in her throat. "No." So _that's_ what he was focused on. Still?

He frowned. "Recalling your lackluster interpretation of Draconic forms, I cannot trust you are qualified to recognize such."

Her eyes—her whole face—heated. "No, it's nothing like that. Gods! Just—just stop it." Don't cry in front of him. _Don't don't don't._

"There is no small amount of scripts he could have used. You need to be examined by someone of learning."

'Examined.' The word sounded so cold and dry and distant… detached (just like Irenicus). Was that how Edwin looked at her? (Cold eyes cold crawled across her.) _This is for knowledge-gathering only,_ he'd been sure to clarify last time. _There is naught else there to hold my attention._

Sajantha bit down hard on her lip. Did he… did he truly think there was something that could be found? "Fine—fine! But _not you."_

Edwin blinked. "Very well. Who…" A strain, as if it required him a great effort of thought, "Whom would you like to see, then?"

"Not a wizard. A priestess." Somehow the gender was more important than the faith.

"Hn. A Dawnbringer, perhaps. (Yes, she and Lathander's ilk should get along, all prone to ignoring rules and regulations…)"

Lathander. Creativity and renewal and… hope. She took in a jagged breath, and Edwin gave her a wary look.

"We will speak of this later." As if he thought it an assurance, with none of the weight of a pronouncement to fall upon her.

They caught up with the rest of the group, who had apparently been occupied in the felling of several large slimes for the mess left around them. Sajantha picked her way carefully around the spilling ooze—slippier than the standard sludge—it was easier not to glance back at Edwin when the ground so demanded her focus.

"You missed quite a battle!" Yoshimo informed them with a grin, though his amusement suspiciously seemed directed towards the green goo which dripped from Anomen's blade. And from a good deal of his armor. "We should take a moment to, ah, gather ourselves, yes?"

Anomen grimaced as large slop of slime slipped free.

"Here, I've something in my pack…" Sajantha rummaged. "Ah!" She pulled free the thick strip of blue fabric, a good foot or so wide and several long; the bottom of her dress wouldn't serve as much use but for rags, anyway.

"You… _saved_ this?" Edwin's voice might have been disgusted did it hold less disbelief.

"And it came in very useful, didn't it?" Sajantha reached out to dab at Anomen's armor, but he twisted out of her way with an impressive dexterity, as if employing the same dancing footwork he made use of in battle; he faced her from a step away with a strangely strained look upon his face.

"I… I was just trying to help." She lowered the cloth. Was he embarrassed for everyone watching them? "It's on your back—" As a noble, he ought be used to servants and such cosseting him—oughtn't he?—and it wasn't as if he could reach it on his own!

"It may be a corrosive substance, my lady; I'd not have you risk your fair skin."

"My…?" The very same skin he spoke of warmed, and surely reddened; her face couldn't hide any of her chagrin. As if she wasn't suited for even so simple a task—as if she wasn't already covered in substances surely just as vile! "Um. Alright." Of course the Helmite must think he was somehow _protecting_ her, but she only felt even more of a useless fool as she stepped back and let Anomen—and his gauntlet-covered hands—take the cloth from her.

"You could always request a shower from Raviwr, no?" His words might have been benign, but Yoshimo's smile had a little bite to it.

 _"No."_ Edwin spoke for the imp, and his glare couldn't decide whom to settle on, jumping from Yoshimo to Raviwr—to even Sajantha! he must have just realized why her clothes were soaked—but seemed most content to stare down Anomen.

Minsc gave the scene a doubtful look. "Boo is very happy to be high and dry." He gave his shoulder a pat, where the hamster must be hiding behind his armor. "He is not complaining about the scent of my pauldrons now!"

Edwin's nose wrinkled, as if _he_ would like to start—but Jaheira interrupted them: "Are you all done or does anyone else wish to bathe before we even find this wizard's lair?"

"Minsc wishes less words and more swords! Less flight, and more fight! Eh?" He laughed to himself, and the ground teetered as Sajantha suddenly found herself pulled into a hug against the ranger's side. "Minsc is sorry for almost flattening you like one of Yoshimo's pancakes."

"It's alright," she assured him, just as Yoshimo corrected: _"Dorayaki."_

Edwin's glower hadn't at all improved. "We are close. Must I uncover the entrance for you lot (in addition to doing everything else?)"

The group took only a moment to disperse, either eager to find the lair or eager to get away from Edwin. Though all things considered—like them being in the _sewers!—_ he wasn't in such an awful mood, especially given the amount of slime coating his boots. Little enough of it had splashed up to his knees, at least: he'd likely picked out such high boots for the functional convenience—or to blend in among the Amnians?—and not simply because they were quite flattering to—

"(I guarantee you will not find the entrance beneath us.)"

Sajantha's head snapped up. He'd noticed her! Not that she was looking at… well, it wasn't as if she… "Um." But he didn't look mad—nor as if he were laughing at her—he'd already returned to scanning the walls. "Why do you suppose as we're close?" _Close._ No, no, no, not thinking about the weight of him against her; her ear-tips burned as if the heat of the fire had returned. "I mean, not—not _us_ —the, the lair. Close to the lair."

His eyes had narrowed as she spoke—as she stuck her foot further into her mouth!—but he only gave his head a slight shake, as if the mess of her thoughts escaped all sane comprehension. Well. He surely already thought she was crazy; perhaps that was for the best.

With that dismissive shrug, Edwin must have presumed the answer to her question ought be obvious, though probably to him it was. "If one goes to the trouble of summoning an outsider, one does not waste it patrolling far from the location it is meant to guard."

Summoning? "Do you suppose this Mekrath is a conjurer, too?" The theater troupe hadn't specified—hadn't said aught of this mage but his name—and surely some schools had less an edge for dueling one another. "Might that be a problem, do you think?"

"Ah." Edwin let out a sigh as he turned away. "So little faith in me."

"No, that's not what I—" She splashed after him. "I mean, I didn't—"

Was that the slightest of smirks on his lips?

"Ugh!" She stopped herself from smacking the back of his arm in frustration—letting her think that!—but her hands really weren't so clean, and it wasn't worth sabotaging his good humor by mucking up his sleeve any worse. "Edwin…" His name almost worked so well as reaching his arm to gain his attention; he glanced back over his shoulder.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks for the potion."

"Potion _s,"_ he corrected, turning back around.

"Right. Thanks." Would it be easier speaking to his hood, the back of his head? She took a breath. "I—"

"Ah-ha!" Yoshimo's voice filtered through the tunnel. "Here: these bricks do not line up."

Fractionally turned towards her—only an angular nose and a brow just as stern visible from his hood—Edwin's expectant face veered her mind even further off-track, even if Yoshimo's interruption hadn't already.

What had she been going to say? Sajantha licked her lips as she racked her brain for some words—any words—to share.

But, no, Edwin's impatience was only to wonder why she'd not yet moved; he gave her an almost accusatory look and gestured her in front of him. "Must I remind you of our location? (She has already acclimated herself to this disgusting pit, no doubt, for the way she's rolled around in it.) We've no reason to linger."

Right. Of course not. She swallowed, gulping down whatever words still lingered formless on her tongue.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:**

 _almost 90 visitors and only 2 reviews on the last chapter, yowch?! xD well, hopefully this chapter works*; I had to rewrite a lot of it, so sorry about the delay! really big thanks to kyn for beta-ing (though any resulting problematic changes I made are my fault not hers)... this one took a lot of work. :P_

 _*though if it doesn't, I would still greatly like to be informed! I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with battles, sigh.  
_

* * *

 _I couldn't find a more fantasy-appropriate name for 'gardenias,' if anyone has one_ _ _…_?_

 _Mamushi = Japanese/Kozakuran = 'viper:' reference to earlier conversation where Yoshimo labeled him a 'red viper'_

 _Sumimasen = Japanese/Kozakuran = said to 'apologize' if someone goes out of their way for you. A polite term that also expresses deep thanks._

 _Yokatta = Japanese/Kozakuran = literal translation: 'was good,' but is often used as an interjection that can be translated as 'I'm so glad.' When someone explains something good that happened, the other person will say "Yokatta!" just to point out that it's good news for them, or (if it's better news for the other person) to show they're listening and taking an interest in what's being said. (I greatly suspect Yoshimo is being sarcastic.)_

* * *

 _I'm struggling with some stuff right now (like how to reorganize my whole life?!) so I don't know how reliable I will be able to be in terms of updates (you guys have no idea how much time I spend on this/how long it takes me xD). May be temporary, maybe not… Though I am open for commissions on deviantART* {artastrophe}; if anyone is interested, it would really help me out! ;P_

 _*((also oh yeah I painted Raviwr (and Edwin *cough*); I don't think I posted that on here yet hm…))_


	14. Inconveniences

=E=

One hallway layered with three traps, an obscuration charm, and two waves of monsters later, they at last located the entrance proper unto their target's lair, and the armored louts accompanying Edwin performed their function most usefully. _(Clearly_ they'd not yet reached the main force, so why did the rest of the group glare at him for holding his own strength in reserve?)

Though the cluster of mephits 'guarding' the first steps inside served as little more than an annoyance to be swatted away: a ruse, to lower their guard? Possible. But then again, this _was_ Athkatla, where no spellcaster of any sense would dwell.

The only thing of passing interest so far was the bookshelves near the entry, worthy of perusal later, did they have the time. Yet the domicile was far better furnished than one would imagine a sewer dwelling; the mage had carved out his lair in an almost respectable fashion with the tile floors, grand pillars, and finely-fashioned rugs.

Were it not for the faint traces of sewage in the air, the unfitness of the location could almost be overlooked. _Almost._ A stink equally as odoriferous filtered through: the tannery. Nearabouts the Bridge District, then, and this staircase spiraling to the surface would surely say the same.

"That's him! He's the same look as the troupe leader." Sajantha hurried to the corner of the room where a blue-haired man registered no recognition—nor any response at all—even as she lifted a hand to his face and slowly dropped it. "He's not here."

"Oh, Minsc has seen this game before. We must all make silly faces at him until he cracks!"

"I think you may be waiting awhile for that." The rogue shook his head.

Edwin strode past them: little point in wasting time staring at a thrall. "A domination spell. His mind belongs to one far stronger than he." And not of any use to his master currently, for the blankness upon him meant he'd been left without a task to perform.

"You know a lot about dominating people." Sajantha walked beside him, though her gaze trailed after the thrall. "Magic, I mean."

"I know a lot about a great many things, no need to delimit it."

"Are you supposed to… remember, after? With a domination spell. Would the subject remember whatever you—the things you, you know—" She crossed her arms, tucking in her hands.

"Who is to say? I had not thought to question any of them." They were of no use by then; most did not last long, in any case. "Why? Do you…" He paused just in time to keep from walking into her: she'd frozen in the doorway.

He scanned the room, but nothing appeared amiss. "Did you trigger a trap?" A poison of some kind, to render her so? Stiff, she stood staring at a skeletal cadaver upon the table. He could not seize her attention without taking hold of her shoulders; her eyes focused in on his at last, and she shook her head.

"I'm fine." The crack in her voice revealed the lie, even if her sickly white face did not. Just who did she think she was fooling?

Little worth remarking upon within, though the room was nothing to rejoice in, to be sure; a wizard's laboratory of strange collections could be unsettling to the uninitiated (bottles of organic components did not always keep especially well), and the specimens floating in jars—as well as the remains of the figure spread-eagled upon the table—bespoke some leanings towards necromancy, which could not be called welcoming.

Yes. The body had certainly been what did it, for how Sajantha tore her gaze from it, biting her lip. Not that she found anywhere more preferable to rest her eyes: her gaze dropped to the ground, arms folded tight.

The others had fanned out, their exploration more thorough. At least the rogue looked to be checking for traps, though they should have all allowed the squire to blunder forth first as the hair-for-brains clearly wished to. (He could not possibly survive very long with this attitude).

"Can we set free these jar-creatures?" The barbarian held one up, peering through the cloudy liquid. "Irenicus kept an elf lady in a big jar. Maybe—"

"No, Minsc." For a moment, the Harper looked as ill as Sajantha. "Put that… put it down."

This Irenicus… a necromancer of some kind? Such practitioners were generally reviled—more deservedly than Athkatla's less-selective disgust of the entire class—and with some of their more… questionable… practices, 'twas small wonder.

 _Experiments,_ Sajantha had said. None of their faces looked very forthcoming. (But surely no confusion sat upon his face with the same demented obviousness of the squire's.)

Sajantha had not moved from the entry, nor lifted her gaze. Clearly paying as little attention to her surroundings as she possibly could! Was she so determined to invite assault upon her? Standing in an open doorway, anything could—

The squire took her arm, and in a partly pardonable demonstration of usefulness, jerked her to the side as the others sprang into motion: behind them—the other side of the hall—a trio of yuan-ti flanked by fire salamanders slithered towards the group waiting with their weapons out.

 _Pfeh._ They could deal with the mage's minions—the mage himself was of far more importance—Edwin exited the room in the other direction, activating his protection spells.

No trap-monkey about to test this hallway... hm. With the stone walls and the stone floor (a veritable echo-chamber!), any steps would surely announce his arrival: something _silent,_ then. And his shadow was currently occupied, watching for the moment Sajantha's 'guardian' of a squire inevitably exceeded his competence.

But of course summoning another such creature was not beyond his ability.

Fighting the urge not to duck his head in the cramped quarters made it difficult to focus on both alertness _and_ attempting stealth; the owner of this wretched place was surely of a substandard height to endure it. Throwing one irritant after another at him—small improvement even from the sewers, gods!—this fool was far too much a nuisance to be allowed to live.

 _Up ahead,_ came the recognition from the new shadow as it located their quarry, though the mage's study at the end of the tunnel 'twas empty. But Edwin's glyph had gone cold.

 _"Clax ixen."_ The fire-bolt surged to life in Edwin's hands as he whirled, the weaves waiting to fly—

 _Three_ casters awaited him. (Identical motions: mirrored images.)

Too late to reform the weaves—teeth clenched against the strain—Edwin split the spell to channel the blast wider: flames roared forward, outward, and engulfed the three figures, leaving the stone streaked black.

One still standing—still _casting._ _Resistant to fire._ The realization struck as the incoming spell did, shredding through Edwin's first layer of protection. The thrice-damned mage was resistant to _fire!_

No matter, something else so simple as to be reflexive: _"Nil'gnosi nar vis!"_ The arcane missiles flew from Edwin's fingertips as his spell list realigned in his mind, yet only the first two landed before a protective contingency bloomed around the mage.

 _To me._ The command to the shadow wraith pulled the creature forward; it absorbed the green light shooting from the magi, and its malicious proximity was enough to drain energy from the caster—an unsurprisingly diminutive elf—and interrupt his next spell, even as it faded.

Edwin smiled, wielding Sajantha's wand. _"Leor."_ Spell protections down: this would be done quickly enough, before the man finished tracing that symbol of summoning: _"_ _Sho'voth molik de drihli!"_

Edwin's acid splash swept the mage and much of the wall from sight; the shelf above the enemy mage collapsed, barely enough to crash against the ground after it broke apart upon the elf's shoulders and upset his aim.

In the distance came clangs and shouts: somewhere else, the mage's summons had appeared, too far to help him.

Yet still he lived! Had his magics absorbed another attack? Never mind, for he was wounded enough: the elf lifted a potion to his lips—

 _"Gethrisj!"_ With a wave of Edwin's hand, the telekinesis flung the bottle away where it exploded against the wall, dripping blue.

 _"Ekess sia symba othi vilklvi."_ The mage traced a summoning glyph even as Edwin reached into his spell-pouch.

One more hit. Only one more hit, and the fool would be wiped away as if he never existed! _"Shochraos bluthel naric!"_ Edwin's lightning bolt sparked—too bright, too _close—_ in an explosion of light.

Edwin's vision cleared only to be assaulted by a sight just as repulsive as the fetid stench assailing his nose. Writhing tentacles fanned out from a maw of needled teeth, gnashing as the electricity shocked over its giant centipede body: the summoned creature had blocked the magic.

 _Carrion crawler._ Paralyzation attacks. No room for evasion, and the enemy mage lifted a wand of his own.

Edwin's shields deflected one arcane bolt, two—the third and fourth struck with force enough to sear away his breath—the ground hit hard, jolting free his senses: he was on his back with the carrion crawler eagerly closing in.

Pushing half-upright, Edwin cast: _"Molik sho'votha!"_ The acid spell connected even as the tentacles thrashed closer—

Holes began to sizzle in smoking streams, flesh dissolved, and the crawler disappeared in an explosion of thick drips; he twisted towards the mage—

 _"Ekess sia symba othi vilklvi."_ Again, the damned mage cast the damned summons _again,_ and again raised his wand.

 _"Ifni arcaniss—"_ As Edwin cast, the air crackled above him with enough energy to tingle all along his skin. _"_ — _nif kous."_ The dimension door swept him from the ground, angling him upright—a flash of light burned his vision, the spell he'd narrowly missed—and even with spots of white still searing his sight, the outline of the robed figure's back was impossible to mistake.

The man wished paralysis, did he? _"Filg vreol."_ The ghoul-touch spell left the elf frozen in place, the stench of rotting flesh stronger—but not only from _him—_

Edwin shoved the paralyzed mage aside: on the other side of him, the new crawler raised on several of its hind legs, front legs slicing the air as he readied the next wand. _"Levnim."_ The blast knocked the crawler back—a pace, just enough—for _this_ could be solved with fire. _"Clax ixen."_ The familiar spell flew through Edwin's fingertips in a satisfying surge.

The monster faded from existence in charred chunks, unsummoned, leaving naught behind but flakes of ash falling down over the greasy smear of its residue.

But the work was not quite done. Breathing hard, Edwin narrowed his eyes at the mage who lay in undignified heap and the runes that glimmered in the embroidery of his enchanted outfitting. Ah, a fire-resistant _robe,_ was it? How entirely, obnoxiously _inconsiderate,_ and after all that energy expended upon the rakshasa!

With a sneer, he crouched down, and the elf stared up with glassy eyes as Edwin's fingers slid beneath his collar. _"Valignat."_

The mage did not move even as he burned, with nary a scream.

Edwin let out an uneven breath as he stepped back and leaned against the wall. Chips of the damaged stone crinkled off behind him; the conjured acid had left a dribbling of small craters along most of the room's surfaces, leaving some stones disintegrated, others caught in the process of melting. Little marked the first carrion crawler but a milky reeking puddle. (At least no one had been underfoot to get in his way for once.)

Turning the mage's body over with his boot confirmed the fool dead. Most definitely dead: there was no mistaking that manner of disjointed limpness. Nor had the odor much improved.

Ugh. Might the smell be even worse than the tunnels outside? Edwin sniffed. Gods, _he_ had not been the one to drag the stench of the sewers in here, surely! A shudder crept across his skin. Out of here, 'twas past time to get out of here.

He reached for one of his healing potions and winced as the motion tightened his chest with a stab of pain. Even his neck ached as he tipped his head to drink it, and the enemy conjurer's blank face seemed to stare up at him, mocking.

With a scowl, Edwin nudged the body, just shy of a kick, to a less objectionable position: face-down. Their target dead, there was no reason to remain about. Well, naught but for Sajantha's little treasure-hunt. He cast his gaze about the room as he finished the potion.

The rest of the enclosure held little more than the typical fare—another wand (not within reach of the fool), and potion bottles and books decorated the (remaining) shelves—nothing of especial interest, certainly not with the shape most were in. Perhaps the others had had better luck on the far side of the lair; that echo of approaching footsteps could hardly be called stealthy.

"Boo wonders why you ran off!" The barbarian had mustered all his focus into appearing indignant, a look which hardly suited one who might have put that imposing stature to better use. "To get to the treasure before the rest of us?"

"If you are going to believe that, I may as well help myself." Edwin traded the empty bottle for a book left open upon the table and flipped through its pages. Hm. Why would the man have required a guidebook to Amn? Perhaps he—too late—had been reconsidering his residency.

"Help yourself to, ah… what, exactly?" The rogue scratched at his head. "I thought we had agreed Sajantha was our best treasure-finder, no?"

"What… what _happened_ in here?" Entering the room, Sajantha paused to stare open-mouthed a moment, gawping like any ignorant plebeian. Then she shook her head, mouth primly closed. "Never mind." That growing-familiar blankness had once again descended upon her face, leaving it all but expressionless as she glanced to him, though her eyes focused upon the book. "You've first call on it, if there's aught you need."

The _book?_ A laughable suggestion. "You think the belongings of a hedge wizard are noteworthy to me? Truly, they are worth only the handful of coin you might receive for them." He placed it in her hands as he passed. "This should fetch a fair price. (Though it could be more valuable for you to read.)"

"Thanks." She took it automatically without sparing a look, but held it against her chest.

"My lady!" The metal-clad brute might have barreled into him if Edwin had stepped out of the room any slower. Why did he persist with calling her this? Anyone with any brainpower could tell at half a glance she was not nobility; the title came out sounding ironically insulting, but she did not appear to mind. Was she oblivious to the fact that all in the lout's manner only insulted her?

"Minsc and I found this," the squire continued, "he said you might enjoy it?" Whatever he held out was obscured by his over-wide back.

Bah. Let them play with their findings. There was surely nothing there worth holding his own attention; Edwin returned down the hall.

* * *

The Harper stood in the room with the cadaver, the dark look upon her face only intensifying as her gaze affixed upon him. Gods! What was the assault to be now? Better to be accosted by another carrion crawler or two, at least those could be dealt with in a measure of finality.

"Tell me what you are doing with us, Wizard. And not whatever lies you fed to Sajantha."

So this was to be it, the moment the harpy had found him alone, hm? "I've not lied to her."

"And what have you said to her, to so convince her of your good intentions?"

She required little convincing, but sharing this would not serve. "Is it so difficult to believe Irenicus excels at making enemies?" Just what had this mysterious man done? The hassle of sorting it alone ought to be insult enough, even if one disregarded the very real damage left. Angular lines carved below her collarbones… not so unlike the incision which opened the dissected body on the table, was it…?

Edwin tucked his hands into his sleeves, fingers tightening. "I find I would far prefer him dead than breathing."

"Oh?" She did not look especially convinced. "Just when did you encounter him?"

"The Thieves' Guild had their run-ins with him." Not that Edwin had been involved. And that elusive answer seemed to gain him even more suspicion: she required something more specific, then. "Irenicus… tried to take something of mine."

"You expect me to believe this is personal?" One eyebrow raised, a disbelieving question mark.

"He has caused me a great deal of inconvenience. Every man has lines which may not be crossed, yes? I do not tolerate such trespass. Nor do I care what you believe." Every syllable true, though who could say whether any would penetrate her inability to trust his word.

She let out a shallow laugh. "He 'inconvenienced' you—he _inconvenienced_ you? He locked away the friend I pledged to protect where I could not see her—I could not reach her—but I could hear her screaming. He tore my husband from me and cut out Khalid's life like it was nothing; he ripped from me the only man I ever loved, and _desecrated_ his body. He 'inconvenienced' you? _Pfeh._ " She spat. "I will see him dead. This is all I wish. Do not stand in my way."

A… quest for vengeance, then. Sajantha could sorely use some of that same fire. "Then you shall have the killing blow, so long as it is prudent."

Nostrils flaring, Jaheira barely held in her ire enough to give him a stiff nod.

* * *

=S=

Sajantha ran a hand along the pitted holes in the shelf. Even the far corners of the room had been splashed by damage! Quite a battle, it must have been, though Edwin hadn't so much as appeared winded.

Had that mage been a conjurer, after all? (Or a necromancer?) Not that it really mattered, now.

She squeezed her eyes shut to the bloody images that rose to her mind. The sounds of the others moving about the room was a reminder enough of where she was (and where she wasn't). She cautiously opened her eyes, and looked about the magic-torn room. _What happened?_ she'd blurted, like it had required explanation: _Edwin_ happened.

And this time, acid. Fire _and_ acid. Enough to render everything useless? However much differed, the scene felt far too much the same as the ruins of the room with the Scroll. And the demolished body in the midst of it.

No reason to look any closer—'twas obvious what had killed him—but a red-and-black scalded hand flung out from the twisted heap of charred robes, as obliterated as the rest of the room.

But… it wore a ring.

She knelt to retrieve it, but dry pieces of the flesh beneath caught and crackled, then slid free with the ring; the finger changed from black to the wet red beneath.

Sajantha's stomach turned; she shook off the ring (the skin). Shoving the jewelry out of sight into her pack (and some of the wizard with it?), she hurriedly stood and turned around, only to almost step into Anomen.

"I thought of you when I saw it."

"You—you what?" Oh—he was holding out something—a… a _harp._ "You did…?" A low-headed harp, graceful and glossy, its sleek shape held quite the allure: what manner of tones could be coaxed from that strangely slender soundbox?

And… with that iridescent pearl-painted frame, the silver-stringed instrument would surely sell for a great deal. Not that silver was at _all_ most suited to string the wires with; brass and gold would have been far more ideal—

"At the Five Flagons." Anomen gave her a nod. "You kept staring at the harp when we spoke with the troupe leader."

Her fingers glided over the smooth neck to where the engravings curled at its head. Had she? The playhouse harp had been large enough to require a stool. The last time she'd seen one that size had been at the High Hall, in Baldur's Gate. Sarevok's coronation. The last time she'd played on a harp as well, even if it had been for battle.

Anomen was watching her closely. "Do you not like it?"

"Oh—no, I'm sorry—" She withdrew her hand from where it had paused, moving instead to take the harp at its pillar. "It's just… a lot of memories, that's all. It's absolutely lovely, Anomen; thank you."

But once the instrument was in her hands—a familiar weight, if an unfamiliar feel—her smile faded. Why would a mage have kept a non-magical harp? Surely it was enchanted! And what if that same nauseating pain from casting should strike her whilst playing—what in the hells would she have left? No— _no._ Better not to risk it.

She stowed the harp in her pack, along with Edwin's book, and all the other books she'd fit into it (and the ring).

"An unfortunate man, our Mekrath," Yoshimo said. On the other side of the desk, he straightened, holding up a brown jar. "I have seen this before: _Katakuda—_ Dragonskin. Did he expect battle? Not soon enough, it seems."

Mekrath. Right, he had a name, not that it meant anything anymore. Little left of him, now, but the stink of his death-by-fire which filled the small room. Nothing to seize at her from the shadows of nightmares here: this mage's paraphernalia was of a mundane variety, simple things. Books and baubles, the sort of accoutrements that had filled her father's room.

"You would think the Wizard might have found a less… messy way of dealing with him." Anomen grimaced as he stooped beside the body.

"Ehh… as much as Minsc loves swords, he cannot call them clean. Still, they are the best! Magic is impressive, but better we have swords for everyone."

"Far less of a smell, it is true." Yoshimo wrinkled his nose.

"And Sajantha has her own little sword now!" Minsc beamed at her. "Now that you will be a warrior, there is so much to learn! Has Minsc told you about the drills we used to run? Back home, we spent hours every day on the practice field. And evenings drinking in the lodge, of course!" His smile wilted. "Ah, Rashemen… at least we have the memories, right, Boo?"

Home. How many of them could never go back there?

"I'm not ever going to be a warrior—certainly not like any of you!" Just what exactly was she going to do with her sword? _Learn to defend yourself,_ Edwin had said, as if it might be so easy a thing, as if he wouldn't go on to yell at her for actually trying to use it. "I can't swing around one of those great cleaving things, after all." Nearly as unwieldy—and messy—as Korgan's axe. "Yoshimo's just shown me a few techniques; he's the only one of you with a sword even close to mine." Though even his slim katana was nearly twice as long as this stiletto blade.

"I prefer the more elegant touch of finesse." Yoshimo winked. "Far more of a personal flair to such a style, yes?"

"Dead is dead." Anomen's arms crossed. "Whatever the technique."

"I'd make sure to demand lessons from you, had I the strength to swing about a sword so large as yours." Her muscles tired far too quickly.

"There are techniques that transcend models of blade," Anomen suggested, "simple exercises. I have instructed many initiates; if you have interest in learning, I should be pleased to lend my expertise."

"Really?" It wasn't as if magic were much of an option at the moment. Perhaps…

"Indeed." And the smile Anomen gave her was encouraging, bolstering enough for her to smile back.

"Sajantha!" Minsc called her attention back. "Boo and I found some magic!" He gestured to the paper in his hands and the hamster bobbed along on his shoulder.

Magic? When was the last time she'd so much as _looked_ at a magical scroll (aside from Edwin's)? The symbols seemed to blur together, swimming before her eyes, but— "An evocation!" Yes, _that's_ what that sign was, and 'twas a simple enough spell, for the scribe hadn't bothered with much to obscure it; there were enough Draconic elements to decipher it with certainty. "A floating disk spell." She looked up. "Some adventuring mages use it, to carry loads behind them—like a wagon or something—only it floats along without needing pulling."

"Ooh!" Delighted, Minsc clapped his hands together. "Is it safe enough to transport hamsters, do you think?"

"Aye, I don't imagine Boo would surpass the weight limit." Half of Sajantha's smile was due the ranger's enthusiasm, the other half due to Yoshimo's amusement by it.

"You must hurry and be a witch again, Sajantha! I think Boo would enjoy flying along on such a perch. Yes," Minsc nodded, "he says it would be a much smoother ride."

"Aye. We'll… we'll see, I guess." Her smile suddenly too heavy to hold onto, Sajantha ducked her head and turned back to Anomen.

 _Swords._ Now _that_ was something she could learn to do. Right?

As if reading her mind, the squire gave her an encouraging sort of nod, and his hand came up to rest a moment on her back as he followed her back out the door, the weight of his gauntlet pressing through her cloak.

* * *

=E=

Edwin stepped into the open entry, glancing around. _Movement._ He reached for his spell pouch, even as the figure stepped into view from behind the bookshelves.

The blue-haired prisoner gazed upward, gaining his bearings. Alert, then, and—as predicted—no need to further disenchant him.

"Reacquainting yourself with your brains, I see. (Introductions cannot possibly take long.) You are the actor who managed to get himself captured."

"Haer'Dalis, aye." A strange blue-eyed gaze—made stranger by the tattoos framing it—fell upon him. "Though the manner of my capture is a tale justice would take far longer to tell. 'Tis an adventure most worthy of elaboration, but take not my word for it; I shall allow you to be riveted by its recitation in no short order—"

The flowery speech of frivolous poets and carefree bards. It had been… many months. Who had time for this long-winded tripe? "Your squawking wears upon my ear. Pin shut your flapping beak, else I will do it for you."

"Such poor humor, for a generous rescuer!" The man's own humor remained undiminished, for the small smirk he still wore.

Generous? "I slew your captor; if this rescues you, 'twas only by your fortune."

"Most fortunate, indeed. In a blaze of trumpets, with wicked blades held high, thus came ye fates of chaos to let this sparrow fly!"

Footsteps filled the room, as if summoned by his words.

"We came here to rescue you, little man," the Rashemi said. "Though our blades are only good, not wicked. And our bard does not play trumpets, for their noise makes Boo's fur stand on end."

"Ah, a friendly face at last! And, such a large one. You would be a… berserker, yes? This sparrow should love to perch upon your shoulder and watch the dominoes tumble before you!"

Jaheira crossed her arms. "A lot of words, without a lot of sense."

The bard gave an easy shrug. "A pragmatic woman, I see, with a nose as hard as her stare. I've something more practical to direct yourselves to: Mekrath—dead, I presume?—had stolen a gem from my possession; mine once more, with his demise! Let us see if we can relieve the berk of it."

"Is this what you seek?" An egg-sized jewel of swirling colors rested in the squire's open hand.

Hm. This was no simple gem—but the blasted actor snatched it up without allowing Edwin a closer look.

"So it is, my hound, and well-met. ' _So am I as the rich, whose blessed key / Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure._ ' " The blue-feathered birdbrain swept a bow. "Let us be gone from this dismal hole. Come, my friends; the next adventure awaits!"

Must they endure such nonsense so long as that? "We have not the room nor patience to indulge spewers of subpar poetry. (Surely any reward should have gone to this Mekrath for taking him off their hands in the first place.)"

The actor clutched his heart, a dramatic flair of feigned injury. "You wound me; 'twas a simple verse. You think, mayhap, that my brain has been addled too long by arcane spells? Oh, what tragedy!"

"You'd not the brains to spare, you empty-headed parrot!" Gods! Would he not cease his prattling tongue?

Sajantha gave the man a smile, however cautiously it sat upon her face. "Your imprisonment does not appear to have worn upon your spirits, at least."

"I am well-pleased to shake these shackles and fly unfettered. What darkness behind compares to the open skies before me?"

Her head tilted, something still cautious—if curious—in the motion. "You think it's so easy as that, to leave it behind?"

"To rise above it? Only when we do not carry the darkness with us, my raven." His strange eyes grew a stranger light as he looked at her. And took a step closer. "Or within us. Such chaos swirls about you! Breathtaking."

She took a step back. "Perhaps you are still befuddled by your captor's dark magics."

"Dark magics, perhaps, but…" He tilted his head, looking every bit the ridiculous bird. "Are you sure it is I, who is so? This darkness is not mine."

Did the temperature just drop? "You are mistaken." Sajantha's voice was stiff.

A smile stretched across the actor's face, the markings upon it carving his features with a sinister cast. "Denial sings such a pretty tune, does it not?" Not nearly so flippant as he affected, was he? Just what were his intentions?

All the color fled Sajantha's face, and her hand tightened on her sword-hilt.

Edwin stepped towards the blue-haired buffoon, interrupting his line of sight. "What do you know of it, you yapping mongrel? Do you wish to return to a state of drooling vacancy? I will render it unto a lasting affliction if you insist." Destroying a mind was far easier than fixing one, after all.

"No, I've no wish to provoke any more fire from this red-cloaked sparrow-hawk." He smiled past Edwin, as if he could yet see Sajantha behind him. "I can tell when I'm not wanted."

"Pity you didn't notice at once."

He gave them a bow as he tossed the jewel into the air; it disappeared through fast fingers as he straightened with a flourish. "This Sigil Troupe wears out its welcome not. We exit to the next stage, then."

At last displaying some amount of intelligence, the actor elected not to walk with them.

* * *

=S=

They filed back out of the mage's lair, their footfalls leaving murmuring splashes. _Coldness_ swallowed her foot—she rocked backwards to free herself, arms wheeling. Gods! She'd stepped right into a deep puddle—deeper than even her boots—and the weight of her newly heavy pack kept her from leaping free fast enough.

Anomen steadied her. "You seem quite shaken. Did the actor's words strike you so? His babbling made little enough sense; I do not think he said aught to be taken seriously."

The liquid slowly soaked into her socks, leaving the same clammy feeling around her toes as swirled inside her. "Oh. I—I don't know." He had _seen_ something. He had looked right at her and his not-quite-human eyes had grown even stranger, deeper, as if dilated. _This darkness is not mine._

"Do not take it to heart. Content yourself with the task accomplished: a wizard slain, a prisoner rescued. We must measure even small victories."

"I suppose you're right." What had the troupe leader said? Three-hundred for the actor, plus double for the gem? Nearly a thousand gold. No small prize.

Anomen kept his hand on her elbow while they climbed the incline out of the sewers, keeping her from again slipping as the tunnel sloped upward, the faintest glimmers of light reaching the slick stone walls—and there, the low sun glittering across the canals.

As they stretched out above-ground, the wind hit with a clear gust, welcome even as it surely further mussed her hair; she tucked as much as she could back behind her ear. The ribbon… when had she lost Lacey's ribbon?

"I fear I must return to check in at the Order." The headquarters and its grand statues stood not far from sight, and Anomen's gaze traveled towards them a moment. "But I will return as soon as I am able."

"Thank you for your help today. And the harp."

"Of course." He smiled. "I should like to hear you play sometime."

"I'll have to practice first. It's been… months." Was it the sort of skill that might be forgotten? (Was magic?)

"I will be looking forward to it."

* * *

=E=

The wind swept Sajantha's cloak into him, the bottom hem still lined with the sludge of the sewers. Ugh! His clothing would need be cleaned after today in any case, but this did little for his mood.

Edwin glared a moment back over his shoulder. "He has the brains of an empty helmet and his prattle is just as hollow." At least the fool had crawled back to his Order instead of clattering along behind them the rest of the day, a breath of air as fresh as at last leaving the sewers behind. "Why do you wish to waste time speaking with him?"

Sajantha gave a little shrug. "I like talking to him. He actually enjoys telling me things; I needn't pry them loose of him."

An opportunity for her to take digs at him, was it? Two could play at that, and he far better than she. "And what things have _you_ shared with him? Of your father? Of Irenicus?" Such information was too valuable to dispense with freely; there were many in the city who would endeavor to make use of it for their own ends.

Her lips pressed together. "He _also_ doesn't try to make me feel as if I'm fighting a battle every time we speak. If he says something he so much as _fears_ might offend me, he apologizes in the next breath."

"Pfeh. A coward, if he must tiptoe so lightly."

"No! _No_." The wind had left her cheeks ruddy and eyes shining. "Not at all: he's polite. Respectful. Don't be so dismissive of everything you never even bother to attempt."

'Never?' He had not made these efforts to have them overlooked! "I can be respectful!"

"Oh?" She raised her chin, and even still her head rose no further than his shoulder. "It's a conscious choice not to be, then, is it?"

"I am respecting your wishes by allowing that parasitic mouth-breather to live, howsoever much he and his wasting of oxygen causes me to suffer." What use did he serve? As if the fool's presence added aught but annoyance! Edwin's hand kept drifting towards his spell pouch. But this could not be solved with magic.

"I really hope you're jesting, Edwin."

Bah! Was there no pleasing her? Her trust, he _would_ have her trust—without that squire undermining it!—just how did one play this stupid game? But saying anything further would only allow Anomen the distinguishing honor of deserving Edwin's scrutiny, and the boy was not worth a single additional moment of reflection; why could Sajantha not see it?

She came to a stop in front of him, shaking her head. "You're attacking Anomen because he's nice to me? So, what if he weren't? Would that make him better, would that raise him in your esteem? If he treated me poorly, if he weren't so 'cowardly' as to care how he made me feel. Maybe I don't deserve that, anyone looking after my feelings. But you needn't attack him for it: just go back to attacking me."

"I am not attacking you." How had this switched around? What was she attempting to insinuate? "I do nothing to hurt you!"

"I hardly think you're the most qualified person to consult on that." Her voice was quiet as she resumed walking.

"I cannot be blamed if you are offended by what I say; this is your own weakness."

She let out a breath, a whisper of a laugh. "You want to know why I like talking to Anomen? Or do you want to know why it's so hard for anyone to talk to you?"

What twisted trails did her mind turn to! "As if I am so desperate as to desire wasting time in converse with any of you!" The Scroll could have been before him this very moment—he the first soul in millenia to unravel its secrets!—and instead he'd spent the day slogging about the _sewers,_ of all places, only to suffer her accusations? What was worth putting up with this!

The Scroll. Yes. _Yes._ For what would be gained, this could be tolerated, surely. Edwin unclenched his hands.

"If you'd truly like to respect my wishes…" She took in a deep breath. "Perhaps you could remember to speak to me like I'm a person, and not a disobedient serf. I think that would be a good place to start." She gave him a nod, picking up her pace to reach the druid crossing the canals up ahead.

"The bard was an odd fellow, wasn't he?" The rogue—where had he come from!—splashed through a nearby puddle, very narrowly dripping upon Edwin's cloak. A near miss. Fortunate for him.

 _Bards_. Gods! As if there were not a more confusing, contradictory profession. 'Odd' did not begin to cover it. "Why are you speaking to me! Do I look as if I wish to be disturbed?" Idiot, idiot, he was surrounded by idiots.

Edwin rubbed his forehead. There was a potion of alertness somewhere in his pack, was there not? This day had already dragged on long enough.

* * *

=S=

The wind tugged at Sajantha's hair, breeze made cool by the water; she hugged her arms beneath her cloak, though the evening sun warmed away the clamminess of the sewers.

Jaheira fell into step beside her. "How are you holding up?"

Sajantha glanced back at Edwin. "He thinks _I'm_ moody? Gods." Such a turn-around from yesterday, he must be missing the Scroll. But how to thank him for accompanying them if he insisted upon acting like that? "But maybe I'm getting used to him."

"I meant with Mekrath's lair. There were some… reminders." Jaheira's hand tightened on her staff.

Oh. _Oh._ Her ears warmed. "I think I just have flashes. And then… bury them down again."

"That… it may not be healthy, to keep repressing. I wonder if it is not like a toxin, something that needs be purged from the system."

"What do you mean?"

Jaheira stared ahead. "Perhaps it would help you, to speak of it. If Khalid were here, he—"

Khalid. _Khalid._ Sajantha's hands began to shake—her breath coming faster—

Her feet caught something slick—her stomach plummeted in a drop of vertigo—and a firm hand gripped her shoulder.

"Watch your step, little Sajantha! Minsc would dive in to pull you out, but then Boo would get wet, and it is ever so hard to get the smell of wet hamster out of one's clothes! Or fur. He will not appreciate it, I do not think."

"We wouldn't want that, of course." Sajantha continued walking with Minsc between her and Jaheira. He made for a rather solid wall.

* * *

=E=

Red-and-white striped banners hung limply to frame the raised stage, and the scattered torch-lamps did little to brighten what was clearly a deserted room; there was no need to inspect it further.

Edwin took a seat in the pews while the rest of the group pointlessly poked about the back rooms; it did not take them very much longer to determine what had been immediately clear: the troupe—along with the promised reward—had vanished.

"We will go speak with the innkeep," the Harper said. "Perhaps he might know something of their whereabouts." They glanced back at Edwin as they returned upstairs—did they expect him to leap at their beck and call? Not that these benches were at all comfortable, but 'twas the principle; he stretched back.

Jaheira at least had little time to bemoan the mysterious absence of the acting troupe. An example others could certainly benefit from: Sajantha sat unmoving in the first row of benches where she faced the empty platform.

"In the future, allow one with more discernment to first take their measure and you will not be taken advantage of again." No doubt the rest of the actors had been as flaky and treacherous as the blue-feathered parrot, a rank charlatan, anyone could see. Anyone but a soft-hearted fellow bard. (Not that she had been playing aught of late.) But the squire had been with her? The idiot had no excuse for accepting any quest from such unreliable sources. _Every bit_ as brainless as he appeared.

Sajantha sat unmoving, but for the slight shiver through her shoulders when she ducked her head.

No doubt the others had left so as not to deal with this. "You are looking for consolation?" Edwin rose. " 'Twas your own poor judgment which led you here, nothing else. Turn it into a lesson, and you will have lost less."

"Lesson." Hair tumbled into her face as she shook her head. "What's the lesson. Don't help anyone? Don't trust anyone. Don't ever expect anything."

That should cover it. "They will all disappoint you. But only if you give them power to."

"That doesn't seem like a good way to live." A numbness to her, though: no challenge lit her eyes.

"It is a good way to survive."

"Is that the point of life? To survive it."

"To overcome it. To rise above every obstacle in your path… to rise above everyone else."

"And then, what?" she whispered.

Raviwr returned from examining the stage, settling in beside Sajantha as he looked up at Edwin. "Signs of extra-planar travel." That jewel—a planar gem, then. Such a thing would have been worth easy thousands to the right bidder.

They would not be coming back. "Good riddance."

"The diviner…"

Edwin's head jerked up.

"Do you remember?" Sajantha stared at her fingers, knotting them together. "On the way to Candlekeep."

Ah, _that_ diviner. The one who had shoved Sajantha's coins back into her hands, promising her good fortune with all the sincerity of a third-rate thespian as she practically bolted away. "Aye."

"I… gods." She shook her head. "Everyone sees something, when they look at me." She twisted in her seat, facing him. "What do you think it is? Do you see it?"

This was about the actor? "You cannot permit such vacuous theatrics to get to you."

"What do you see. Edwin. What do you see, when you look at me?" Her muted-green eyes begged reassurance far louder than did her voice.

"Someone who needs to collect herself and stop allowing others to affect her." And stop allowing them to take care of her.

"It's that easy, to you? You're so above being affected by everything. By everyone." A small laugh shook out of her. "But you couldn't have always been."

Why should he not have—? But there was too much desperation in her for this to be a challenge. "I cannot recall being otherwise."

"That doesn't mean you _always_ were. I don't remember a lot of things, either."

"Domination." She did remember something.

"Maybe," she licked her lips, "maybe if you kept sharing things, too, it could help me. Make it easier to… go back."

"This mental block of yours is naught to do with me." Just what did she intend to do with the pieces she would dig free of him?

"Oh, that's right." The bench creaked as she stood up. "You don't deal with 'maybe's.' "

It was an option, though—and how else might he uncover the truth?—other methods remained available, but the sort of things he would have to resort to… "I will think on it."

Already headed for the stairs, she didn't turn around. She must not have heard him.

An early evening, for once, plenty of time to study the Scroll that might still allow time for a night's rest. And yet this did not seem the best time to allow her out of sight.

* * *

 _ **[Author's Note(s)]:**_

 _Thanks much to Kyn for beta-ing; I think I'd be too scared to post without you. ;3_

* * *

 _Haer'Dalis is quoting the opening of Shakespeare's Sonnet 52… since he and Jaheira have a banter that references Hamlet._

 _Haer'Dalis: Well, my frumpy ptarmigan, I must protest…  
Jaheira: "Methinks thou dost protest too much." Aye, I can quote the poets too._

 _(except—ironically, if you will—the /actual/ line is "The lady doth protest too much, methinks" … though that gets misquoted even outside the Realms xD)_

* * *

 _Sorry to everyone who hoped to see more of the tiefling, haha, though I promise I will put the impact of the failed quest to good use! (I dunno how many people here read my first version of this fic six years ago? But the way this quest ended was one of the few things I salvaged from it. xD)_

* * *

 _Sorry, I'm having a pretty rough week, though I will try to catch up with everyone soon! ^^; As always, your comments are greatly appreciated. *hugs*_


	15. Flesh and Blood

**[Author's Note]:** _Warning: an accumulation of angst!_

 _title inspired from the Silent Hill soundtrack… dun dun dun. x)_

* * *

=E=

The bumbling group could never be called inconspicuous (even when they did not reek of the sewers); 'twas simple work for his eyes (never mind his nose) to find them as Edwin climbed the stairs from the playhouse, though the racket of the poorly-tuned minstrels did its best to distract.

Spotting Sajantha, however, was another matter: her drab clothing blended into the background, even as she stood before the windows in the late afternoon light, more interested in the view than whatever passed for conversation with the rest of the simians. Who could blame her? No doubt they'd failed to discover anything useful and still chewed over the same insufficient information like regurgitated cud.

Edwin held in a sigh, the reminder of the sewers sneaking ever-stronger as he approached the unwashed collective. What could possibly be taking them so long? The sooner their discussion concluded, the sooner all traces of the day could be properly expunged. (Surely no Red Wizard had ever before descended to such rank depths as this!)

Brushing off his robes with a shudder, Edwin stepped between them: this squat halfling must be in charge, if they'd surrendered so much attention unto him. "The group of charlatans was under your employ, yes? Your responsibility: you owe us for our time." Allowing them to vanish from the plane without a trace did not divest him of that liability. "Thus, the payment will be—"

"Thank you, _Edwin,"_ the druid's snide tone rather suggested the opposite, "but we are handling this just fine. His inn suffered losses as well." She turned back to the innkeep, face halfway smoothed of her omnipresent glare. "Thank you for your help, Mister Thunderburp." Oh, so the wench could manage to speak with some courtesy after all (however misdirected). (And Sajantha thought _he_ was the one with trouble being respectful!)

"Sorry I couldn't lend more of it." The halfling bobbed his head. "I knew they'd not stay forever, but shorting you on the reward as well! As if the playhouse wasn't in a tizzy enough." His gust of a sigh did little to deflate his bulging stomach, though he quickly perked back up, awashing them all indiscriminately with a grin. "Well, the world needs more upstanding heroic types, and that's true as true." Why did the pint-sized pumpion's eyes settled upon _him?_ "Whatsoe'er colors they wear."

Edwin grit his teeth. "You cannot possibly—"

" 'Heroes,' yes!" The over-sized idiot's over-enthusiastic punch to the air quickly cleared the space around him. "Every place needs heroes! Big ones and small ones and hamster-sized ones, too."

"As a matter of fact," the innkeeper's voice dropped to a confiding whisper, "this place has been needing 'em more than most." His eyes widened for emphasis: _"Murders_ in the night—in our very district!"

"Have the troubles with the Thieves' Guild spread so far?" The Kara-Turan rubbed at his pitiful excuse of facial hair. "I've heard a bit of this…"

Who cared about the lives of Guild members? Certainly the innkeep could not! "Yes, yes, more thieves turning up dead. You are assuredly the only one who mourns them."

"The murder of one person is no less a tragedy than any other." The halfling gave his head a shake. "But these be _innocents_ slain, in the most gruesome of ways."

"Boo's whiskers twitch in horror; this must be stopped!" Ugh, the room was loud enough without the barbarian's incessant bellowing. "Justice—and Minsc's sword—demands an answer! Who kills these poor folk?"

"No one rightly knows! It's dark days, indeed. If only 'twas twenty years ago, back in my adventuring days!" The innkeep had hung his head, but then peeked up. "We can only hope some upstanding heroes… such as yourselves… will find out afore one more soul is lost."

Oh, of _course_ the miniature moron would fashion this into a 'quest,' ready to make use of the adventurers fallen into his lap. No doubt murders cut into business. "Do you mistake us for the garrison?" As if they had nothing better to do! However little energy remained within him to weave a teleport, the prospect tempted; how much longer must he endure these fools?

"He takes us for heroes! And he is right." The barbarian's thick fingers reached beneath his pauldron. "Though not all of us can be so heroic as Boo."

"Of course it is something that deserves investigating." Unsurprising that the _Harper_ should agree, what with her kind so unable to keep their noses out of everything. Meddlers of the Realms, bah!

But of them all, only the Rashemi looked especially eager; Sajantha still stared towards the windows, fingers plucking the neck of that rag which had once been a dress. Was she even listening? How she managed to tune out this commotion was a skill which might behoove knowing; the whistling flutes of the rag-tag band pierced into his pounding head.

"You're more 'n welcome to take up here while you look into it, of course." The innkeeper gave them a beneficent nod, as if granting a boon.

Edwin crossed his arms. "Hardly acceptable compensation." Did the fool imagine such a suggestion should fill them with gratitude? _He_ ought to be grateful that the druid—in her high-minded folly—did not wish to draw the coin due from him. Well. No matter: 'twas not as if their gold-gathering—or lack of it—meant aught to Edwin (though allowing the insult did little for one's reputation).

"No, no, I insist. It happens I've some spare rooms; the third floor is all yours for the evening, free o' charge. Get yourselves cleaned up, then join us down here for a bite, eh?"

Ah, gifting them with 'free' lodging, was it? Far more cunning than his jovial manner insisted: the half-man could still rake in a profit from the bathwater and foods the rest would consume (profit evidently failing to come in from elsewhere if the current small crowd was any indication).

"Oh, Boo smiles upon your generosity! Minsc is grateful as well."

"I am sure you are not the only ones." A touch of dryness in his voice, the rogue gave a small bow. Indeed, the offer of baths did all present a favor: if the rumored violence hadn't chased the patronage off, the odors currently lingering in the entry would.

"This will suffice. (For now.)" The others (desperately) required bathing, and a spare room would serve to set up his spell components. The casting of cleaning cantrips ought not strain him overmuch, at least, though just how many would it take to deal with this mess? Edwin grimaced at his boots. And the hem of his cloak—!

Two pageboys scampered ahead of them, bounding with satisfactory speed up the stairs—with hope they'd take none too long to ready the rooms—the Rashemi and the druid not far behind.

The Kozakuran gestured at Sajantha to follow them, though he needed to nudge her before she noticed. And flinched. As would anyone, with a thief pawing at them! Though the rogue didn't turn to receive Edwin's glare. Sajantha, however, glanced back a moment, her gaze flickering to meet Edwin's with a cryptic lack of expression before they headed upstairs.

A thump landed upon his shoulder—Raviwr—before Edwin opened his mouth to extract an answer. Was she still upset about naively falling for the troupe's ploy? She should embrace the strength the lesson would lend her for the future.

Or perhaps she regretted corralling Edwin into accompanying her along with the rest of them—as she should! Ugh. Such a dreadful waste of a day.

"Is good you did go, Master." The imp's squeak of a voice was quiet in his ear.

'Good?' Far from the first adjective that came to mind! But she _had_ wished him to go, and this game required he play along for now. Reaching through his robes, Edwin's fingers found the reassuring shape of the Scroll. Yes. He would do far worse than endure sewers for the wonders to be had…

* * *

=S=

On the tab, this tub which channeled water through its magical faucet, on the tab, along with all the clothing and gear being laundered. And the spare clothes the children had offered, too—cast-offs of the troupe?—all of it 'on the tab.'

 _A tab._ Even if Jaheira had said their night would be free. Because free board hardly meant a free _stay,_ did it, when there was still other coin to be made off them. But… but it didn't make the owner any less kind for offering—he was still a businessman, after all—and that stab of resentment was not fair for her to feel.

Sajantha curled over as the bathwater rose, already to her elbows.

How much did the truth ever help anyone, anyway, for learning more from Samuel's assistants only made the dark cloud around her harder to see through. Hearing that the mage hadn't stolen anything—hadn't kidnapped anyone!—that the stone had been his all along, and the actor the thief sent to steal it.

Many mages wouldn't have allowed such an intruder to live at all. But Mekrath—with his books on planar theory and cosmology and geography—was dead, now, whatever sort of man he'd been.

Though… surely he'd deserved an early end, with that dissected body left upon his table. (Had Rayic Gethras deserved to die?) But… but, _no,_ Gethras's death couldn't matter, could it (it was worth it), if they'd at least been _paid—_

 _Gods._ Too… too _hot_ in here. Hand curled in a fist, Sajantha struck the silver spigot probably far harder than it needed, but the flow of water obligingly ceased.

When she tilted her head back, tendrils of hair (so long now) floated out to lick about her ears, her shoulders.

Magical bathtubs. It should be such a wonder, shouldn't it? Something fun to remark upon, to enjoy, to investigate, to see whether the summoned water disappeared once outside the tub, or whether pressing the symbol on the side was the only way it emptied. Imoen would've just had to try it all, would be splashing and giggling.

Sajantha squeezed her eyes shut, soaping through her hair and swallowing back her tears 'til they burned behind her nose.

Who cared if it was magical? It felt no different than any other bath, a reminder of all her stinging cuts and tender bruises. Who cared? Edwin certainly hadn't; he'd insisted the errand boy remove the tub from 'encroaching' upon his own room. But of course he had his spells at hand and would trust nothing else.

The year-old memory tickled at her nose: of holding close the bundle of gear his spells had cleansed, no longer smelling of gore (an eruption of cow innards) but of spell components. _I will not again play chambermaid,_ Edwin had assured her—as rudely as he possibly could, for such a considerate gesture— _'twas a singular occasion for mine own benefit._

That… had that been the first conversation where he'd talked to her, really talked _to_ her, and not _at_ her? For once, he'd managed to see her so clearly, seen through to the true source of her upset: _How many have you killed, Sajantha?_

 _It gets easier,_ he'd said, far too quiet to be entirely mocking, and even then she'd known that must be true.

A rap on the door, a familiar female voice (but not familiar enough): "Sajantha."

What would Jaheira do, if Sajantha didn't answer? Kick down the door (ensure she'd not drowned in the bathtub)? Or leave her be (alone)?

"Sajantha?" the Harper asked again.

"Aye?" Her voice cracked on the word.

"We'll be downstairs. Alright?"

Sajantha tipped back her head, the hard edge of the tub pressing an ache into her neck. "…Aye."

* * *

It took a third scrubbing in a second batch of fresh water before she had to concede she must be clean, however it felt; any foul smells had long ago been obscured between the floral scents of the soaps and the vase of lavender on the dresser, so it was only the still-crawling feeling of her skin.

But when Sajantha left the room, the smell of the on-loan dress began to dominate: stale, as if kept in a trunk overlong. Probably she shouldn't have drawn up its hood, but at least no one had to look at her tangled wet hair.

Might Edwin wear his hood to keep his own hair hidden? Though 'twas difficult to imagine even something so little as his hair disobeying him. Some other reason, then, perhaps like how her own hood added an extra layer of distance to everything, lending some strange security that stayed with her as she descended into the small crowd gathered downstairs.

Always hard to miss, she spotted Minsc before her bare feet stepped off the stairs, before he shouted her name and waved her over to the group's table. Absent of red, save the brightly-painted wall behind them.

"This is for you!" Minsc gestured, and Yoshimo nudged the empty chair out to her, at the place setting which held a meal far fuller than the mostly-eaten ones around it.

With the same vibrancy of the inn's lively decor, the evenfeast plate boasted a colorful array: green beans with roasted walnuts; something which looked rather like a potato, except orange; and some manner of red-and-pink meat beside a golden piece of cornbread. But for all their vivid color, something about them seemed… flat.

"Smoked duck breast."

Her gaze jerked up to Yoshimo at the sound of his voice. She'd been staring at it too long, hadn't she? Sajantha murmured thanks, hurrying to take the seat. Smoked? It rather looked _raw._ She gave it a careful poke with the fork, though the underside proved no more appetizing in appearance with the flecks of seasoning stuck to it.

Damp hair slicked into a ponytail, Yoshimo let out a happy sigh as he stretched back."There is nothing like the feeling of a well-deserved wash after such a trek, no?"

No, nothing except securing the _reward_ for doing so, but Sajantha bit back the retort: the only one to be angry at was herself, for how foolishly she'd felt sympathy for the blueish-skinned troupe leader and her pitiable plea, but the woman was an _actress,_ wasn't she, and Sajantha the dupe who'd fallen for her act, lapping up those crocodile tears as surely as Anomen had in his eagerness to aid another damsel in distress.

She stabbed at the orange potato.

But… but that wasn't fair to Anomen, for wanting to help out of a sense of chivalry, when her own urge to help had hinged so much on the reward.

"The magic baths were a wonder, yes! Almost as much fun as the hot springs in Rashemen. Oh!" Glasses and ceramic rattled as Minsc clasped his hands in eagerness. "Do you think they make ones with bubbles?"

"Pfeh!" Jaheira wore a sneer. "The world would be better without spellcasters disrupting the natural order. You think such trivial conveniences are worth anything, compared to the destruction magic can wreak?"

"Boo says Jaheira is thinking of the nasty wizards and not sweet Dynaheir, so we will pardon your words this time." Though Minsc wasn't smiling anymore. "But not all magic is bad. Or there would be no Boo!"

"You… you are right, of course. In all things… balance." Jaheira had lost some of her fire, fingers tapping on her glass. "I am sorry. I could have done without the reminder of… Irenicus today." Had she been going to say something else? (Someone else?)

The sweet piece of potato stuck in Sajantha's throat, the next bite hanging on her fork. _Reminder._ No. Don't think about it (him) about bodies (pieces) spread on tables (Mekrath had deserved it _he had deserved it)—_

The metal utensil dug into her fingers; she slowly loosed her grip, and with the scent of the smoked duck hanging thick in the air, Sajantha turned away. The purple sunset filtered through the windows, deepening, darkening…

"Sajantha." By the tone of it, it hadn't been Jaheira's first attempt; Sajantha glanced back to find the druid's face more weary than impatient. "Would you like to join us?"

The sort of thing Parda would say to a daydreaming student! Sajantha flushed. But Jaheira hadn't meant her attention, and evidently recognized Sajantha's flustered look enough to repeat the rest of the context: "We're off to trade in the Promenade."

"No. I…" Far too far, far too draining, when her sore muscles tensed as if to protest the very notion. The fork clinked against the plate when she set it down. "No."

"If we leave now, we should be back not long after dark."

"Everything alright?" A halfling—the one they'd been speaking to earlier—approached the table, giving Sajantha's still-full plate a worried look. "If the meal isn't suiting you, we can rustle ye up something else; never fear!"

"I haven't much of an appetite, is all." Why were they all _looking_ at her, like they could practically see her stomach trying to crawl out of her? Sajantha stood with the rest of them before anyone could insist she try to swallow more down.

Jaheira paused, then tipped her head at the halfling: "Perhaps Samuel won't mind entertaining you while we're gone."

She'd hardly left it as a question for him to refuse, but he accepted the duty gracefully enough, giving them a grin. "My pleasure." He turned towards Sajantha as the group departed. "One of the heroes of Baldur's Gate, right at my inn! And fixing to be a hero of Athkatla, if I don't miss my guess."

Hero? 'Twas too hard to return his smile: a true hero would be acting without any desire—or expectation—of a reward, rejoicing to save a life whether or not it could repay them, not wishing misfortune upon those who had so abused their trust and wasted time with empty promises. _This darkness is not mine._

"What can I get ye to drink, lass? I'm far more entertaining with the right ingredients, I must admit."

"Oh, no," Sajantha straightened, "I oughtn't." She should be… what _should_ she be doing? Something more productive than drinking, surely. "But thank you. And you really don't have to 'entertain' me. I don't know why she said that."

No. 'Twas clear enough why, though whether Samuel had caught on was another matter. _Had_ she anything better to do? Anywhere else to go? The innkeeper and his smile weren't so easily deterred, and somehow she followed him to the bar.

"No strain on my end, is it?" He spoke over his shoulder, rustling around behind the counter as she slid onto a stool. Bottles clinked. "Why do you think we put in a playhouse, eh? We're in the business of entertaining folk. No sad sacks allowed, I say." He gave her a grin; the glass he pushed slid smoothly across the bar's polished surface. "Gullykin hard cider."

"I…" Her voice was small, as small as she felt with her shoulders hunched up, "I haven't the coin to pay you."

"On the house, of course. I take my cheering-up duties seriously." He winked. Ah. So it was obvious. But there wasn't any pity in his prattle. _"Very_ seriously," he added before reaching down and pulling something from a hidden drawer. "While you were upstairs, the queerest thing happened! A tall fellow made me promise three ways to Greengrass that I'd hand this over to Haer'Dalis. I tried to tell him I'd no idea when they'd return—or even if they would!—but the glitterpockets insisted." He gave a little shrug: 'what a shame,' but his eyes gleamed.

And surely her own eyes gleamed, too, for a gemstone rested in the innkeep's palm. Her hands twitched. Was it like this for Imoen? Seeing something shiny and just _needing_ it: the urge to snatch it from him trembled through her fingers. Small, but the way it sparkled!

"I don't expect as we'll ever see either of 'em again, so it seems only fitting: yours, if you'll have it."

A—a _diamond?_ He was just going to give her…? "That's," her voice caught, "that's so nice of you." He'd already given them rooms, and she'd been ready to accuse him of doing so just for profit, but a diamond? Surely that was worth more than he could hope to make off them!

"Aw now, chin up, lass, don't ye be crying. You just keep an ear out for any patrons for our next play, alright? We've got enough coin to start looking into production, but only that."

She tucked the gem into the small pocket stitched upon her bodice. "I really wish I could help, but I'm trying to gather gold, too." She took sips while he spoke, the cider a sweet tang on her tongue.

"Heard about that, I did. The big fellow was rather emphatic—finding your friend, aye?"

Sajantha bowed her head. "Aye."

"Samuel Thunderburp, by the way. Owner of this fine establishment."

She looked up; the halfling was holding out his hand.

A warmth rose within her, like the cider inside her fanned out in a glow. "Sajantha." But the warmth spread to a heat in her hand as they shook—like she held it too close to a flame—and she flexed her fingers, but the sensation had subsided, too quick to tell whether 'twas her magic (like it used to be) or simply nerves.

"Now, me girl, I'll let you call me whatever you want." A stage whisper: "Just not within earshot of my wife, eh?"

A halfling woman sidled up beside him, just from the kitchens, if the crisped smell upon her was any indication. "What's that, now? My ears are burning."

"Better than burning the roast again! That's right. Speak of a devil, me darling wife." But Samuel was grinning. "This here's Sajantha, visiting from—"

"She has a voice, Samuel; let her use it." Strands of silver escaped from her mostly-blonde bun as the woman shook her head at him before turning to Sajantha, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "Name's Thalia. _Co-_ owner of this fine establishment."

"I'm Sajantha. From—well, Baldur's Gate. Around there." She couldn't say she was from someplace that wouldn't even let her visit without paying entry, someplace that had accused her of murder, someplace she'd left behind—how many?—friends to be taken over by doppelgangers. No, she could not call Candlekeep her own.

But the halflings smiled at her, so open and friendly, and as Sajantha took another sip of the cider, something loosened inside her.

"What are you doing with your back so exposed?" Oh— _Edwin!_ The terse voice came from behind her—out of nowhere!—and surely that could be blamed for how her heartbeat surged, how her skin prickled as he stepped closer, into her peripheral vision.

"You leave yourself vulnerable to everyone who walks in." With his back nearly to the counter, Edwin had angled himself so only the halflings were behind him.

"Now, if me eyes aren't enough, we've a guard right at the door as well," Samuel said, unruffled. "Been easing folks' minds to have one around. Take a seat and relax, friend."

Edwin's gaze flicked towards the innkeeper. "I am not your 'friend,' barman; do not speak to me." He turned his frown to her. "Sajantha. If you must spend your paltry earnings so casually, at least do so from a more secure position." Arms crossed, he leaned into the adjacent stool, half-sitting upon it, half-facing her.

As if the speed had been all which kept it afloat, her heart slowed only to sink in her chest. "I'm not… this isn't…" The warm and fuzzy feeling in her head wasn't soft and comforting anymore, so much as muffling, stifling.

"It is not what? More of your continual carelessness? (One would suppose she's had her fill by now. Just what will it take before this lesson is learned?)" Lips twisting, he let out an impatient sigh. "You have not even your magic—"

 _Magic._ No, she had something else instead: something cold and coiled, that _twisted_. Her stomach—all her insides—clenched, cutting off the sound of his lecture.

Darkness had fallen when she wasn't looking—it waited at the windows, pressed in—a cool gust got in as the hinges of the door creaked: the sound somehow louder than all the crowd around, that sound that never failed to make her flinch.

Waiting, Edwin was waiting for her to reply. Just what did he expect—what did he _want?_ When he stared at her as if she was a riddle needing solving, with an answer lying just out of sight. (How deep might he dig to get to it?) Not something she could deal with, not right now, when his sharp words would be enough to make her bleed.

"Thanks for the drink," she said softly to Samuel, though she'd not even finished it. _Go_ , get out, time to go, before…

The urgent thread that pulled her upward tangled her feet in its haste. She tripped, reaching out—to the highest thing—her hands grasped onto a pair of shoulders as the world whirled.

Edwin slowly straightened. And instead of loosing him as they ought, her fingers clutched tighter, reaching down his arms as he stood. The fabric of his sleeves was soft, smooth enough that her hands slipped down with ease, fingers finding the firm outline of his figure beneath. Her head was a dizzy rush of sensation, full but empty.

The frown on his face pierced right through her daze. No, not a riddle, not that, more like he thought her a _knot,_ stubbornly resisting untying. But if he pulled too hard, she'd only unravel. How to tell him so?

Her mouth had gone dry, making it even harder to speak. If he looked at her... if he could really _see..._

Sajantha closed her eyes. A scent like cinnamon, only sharper, sandalwood and herbs she hadn't a name for blended with the musty tang of spell components—smells once so familiar that the wave of longing that rushed through her nearly swept her the rest of the way off her feet.

 _I see someone who needs to stop relying on people._

Don't—don't lean against him. She would fall. Yet it took too much to keep herself standing, for her arms to keep the distance secure between them. _Too much._ Everything was too much. "I want to go home," she whispered to the chest she did not dare fall into. Her height proved useful for once: at least he couldn't see her face and the tears she but barely held at bay.

He didn't say anything. Of course not—what was there to even say?

There was nothing, not ever.

She took a step back, silken fabric slipping through her fingers. Not embarrassment, now—far too late for that—it was only her eyes that burned.

"Sajantha."

Don't look up. Don't look up—he would _see—_

She shuddered in a breath, almost choked on it. Outside—she needed to get outside. To breathe. Away, away: she pushed away. _Don't look. Don't see. Don't…_ Don't.

He was right: it wasn't safe here, wasn't safe to be around so many people (him) with her composure so close to crumbling; she bumped into a table in her hurry and couldn't even summon the air for an apology when every inhale came closer to a sob.

Breathe, just breathe—she could do that, couldn't she?—one breath at a time. One step at a time. One step—

The door shut behind her, the sudden silence a balm.

* * *

=E=

What in the hells was going on now? Evidently Sajantha's urge to vanish had conquered her urge to collapse. Still so determined to run from everything! Must it be _literally_ as well?

"Hey, boss."

Edwin tore his gaze from her retreating figure (this is why one should not linger about in the middle of rooms!) to the man who'd snuck up on him. Easy enough to do in this racket, though the crowd had only continued to thin as nightfall loomed (howsoever the pitiful musicians attempted to make up for it in volume).

His remarkably dull clothing was only slightly less of a mess than his red-brown hair, and the rogue had not shaved—nor washed—recently, though none of this was new. "Looks like I picked the right day to take off work, eh?" Ercias flashed his teeth and gold glinted. "Moved me up a little higher in the ranks, what with all those positions suddenly wide open." He settled onto the barstool Sajantha had vacated. "Thanks for the tip."

"You serve little use to me dead." So, his informant wished to continue to be useful after Mae'Var's demise? Fortuitous, and not simply for the amount of work already invested to extort the rogue's loyalty. (Perhaps a bit much, when simply reporting the man's whereabouts to his former employers served as threat enough to hold over him.) "I hope you have not disturbed me for something which will make me regret this?"

Not that this would be a long conversation, but no reason to stand here to finish it—and not within earshot of the half-sized bartender, who was surely too curious for his own good—Edwin took a seat at the nearest empty table, one that had a view of both the door and the stairs. In case of unexpected company (or in case Sajantha returned downstairs).

Ercias hopped up to follow him—hand reaching beneath his vest—and Edwin's own hand nearly went for his spell pouch. But the gesture had been brief: a supportive motion, not a hostile one. (Yes, that blasted rodent familiar he carried about. At least he did not invite it into every conversation as did the Rashemi his.)

"Aw, you know me better 'n that. I just wanted to let ye know how ol' Gethras went down. They haven't got any proof or nothing, but they ain't replaced his post yet, neither. So no Cowlie eyes on ye for the nonce." He lowered his voice. "I think they're all damned spooked 'bout the mage they took in."

"Irenicus."

The rogue tucked his chin in with a deep nod. "Bit off more 'n they could chew, word is."

Edwin tapped his fingers on the table. At least this location did not leave him with an urgent desire to wash them. "You will be reimbursed, do not fear, and you shall have your payment as scheduled." Likely his only real concern.

Ercias's shoulders relaxed a bit. "Dunno if ye want to keep up on Guild news, too? Might have to come to a, uh, different arrangement, on account of I'm reporting outside the organization now. I ain't no rat, you understand."

Pfeh. An outright lie, considering his last occupation. "You wish to wring extra gold pieces from me? Tell me the news and I will tell you whether it is worth coins to me (or your life)."

Ercias swallowed. "Sure, boss, yeah." He leaned forward. "Another few have up 'n gone missing. This rival guild's got Linvail all ruffled, it does." A furry nose peeked out from his sleeve. "Hey now, Peska, Master O don't like you poking into his business, he says." He gave Edwin a grin as he tucked the ferret back. "Don't mind my girl, boss. She was just wondering 'bout yours."

He spared a glance for the lump beneath the other man's cloak. Bad enough to deal with these ruffians, he must acknowledge their familiars as well? "My what?"

"Your girl? The one what left, just as we came in?" Ercias lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Peska here thought she looked a mite young for ya, but who'm I to judge?"

"She is not—!" _Left?_ Edwin scanned the crowd. She'd not gone upstairs? _"Raviwr."_ The imp would locate her.

Ercias was watching him with far too much interest.

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "She is no concern of yours."

He held up his hands. "Sure, boss, I ain't judging, as I said." His grin slipped away. "Speaking of ladies—'n this one just came in, why I wanted to find ye—word is Ama's back in town. Ran into a fellow she'd 'questioned'—the jackslice didn't leave him in great shape, neither—then she went and tunneled right underground. Might be the Guild'll find her first, but…"

"The tardiness of your information renders it worthless. If you wish to continue… _working…_ I require far more timely reports." _Time._ Which he did not presently have to be wasting with this! Edwin tried not to glare at the door.

(Was Sajantha's sense of self-preservation so abysmally low she must trounce about with murderers on the loose, the thickheaded idiot! She could _not_ be so determinedly obtuse. Might she truly have missed that entire conversation?)

The rogue babbled on an apology, tacking on inconsequential information about some colleague or another.

Beneath the table, Edwin's hands clenched into fists. _Left._ And the fool before him had ensured he'd not noticed. A trap? Yet Ercias could not have known she would exit (as if anyone knew what that capricious girl would do next!), and accusing him would only draw too much attention. Nor would setting the man afire accomplish much (aside from venting frustrations).

Besides, his strength had best be saved when so few spells remained open to him. _Two_ spellcaster battles already, and it seemed the day was not yet done. Edwin rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Such a time for her to run off!

No matter: Raviwr would collect her.

And Ercias could always be killed later if needed.

Edwin had to unlock his jaw to force a smile.

* * *

=S=

Turning another corner left the Flagons' patch of light out of sight, though music faintly trickled in her wake, competing only with a few scattered voices, too distant for words, and the sounds of the bay lapping at the great bridge.

The salty breeze stung her damp cheeks, and Sajantha wiped at her eyes. So, so close. If she'd remained inside but a moment more and allowed herself to fall against Edwin, soaking his robes in tears—in the middle of the tavern!—his words would have surely left her scalded, if not his magic.

But outside, she could breathe, here where the cool night air could fill her lungs with the fresh nip of the ocean, here where the clamors of the crowd had hushed to the whispered murmurs of the wind.

The water stretched on and on in an unbroken sea of black.

A door to the side creaked—Sajantha's head snapped towards it—and two figures backlit against a lanterned entry became one silhouette as they clung together. She tore her gaze away to glare at the ground as she continued on, a man's low voice and a woman's breathless laugh following her.

 _I want to go home._ Sajantha bit down on her lip. What did that even mean; just where could she go?

Fingers digging into her arms, she left the bay at her back, and—taking longer strides than she ought—tripped. The smooth cobblestone had given way to a patch of uneven ground and chipped rocks, a shallow hole none had bothered to repair. Gods! Why was everything such a _mess?_

Tension squeezed through her muscles, down her arms into fists, down her leg into a sharp kick. But her boots were being laundered along with the rest of her gear, and the sharp bite as a loose stone connected had her bare feet stumbling a step.

Heat spiked through her. _Stupid, stupid—!_ Yet still all she wanted was to run, something—anything!—to release this energy spiraling tight inside her. No magic, no music. (Nowhere to go.)

She hopped a few steps, wincing, before coming to a stop, and the kicked stone clacked on ahead in a helpless tumble. Silence settled in its wake. No, not silence, not quite. What…?

That far-off rumble of wagon-wheels? But it had sounded _closer._ Yet scanning the area revealed no one nearby, though a misty fog had settled in to shroud the edges of her vision, creating ghosts in the corners of her eye. A chill shivered over her skin.

What was that _sound?_ Something wet—

A glancing blow knocked the wind from her, and she struggled for footing as she spun around. "Raviwr—!"

Wings tangled her hair as the imp—was he trying to land upon her shoulder?—half-collided, half-circled around her.

"Gods!" Her laugh came out a trifle too shaky. "You had to scare me like that?"

"You's the one running off!" Raviwr's scaly face scrunched in protest.

"I… I just needed some air." Would that do it—would that be enough, really? Could she now return to Samuel's smiles and her cider and pretend everything was fine? Where a no-doubt disapproving Edwin looked on, ready to remind her that 'carefree' was the same as 'careless.'

Sajantha turned around, kept walking. Not yet. She couldn't face that yet.

"There air at inn. Salted herrings, too." Flying beside her, the imp smacked his lips.

"Just…" She stared up at the night sky, black but for the broken clouds. A star or two must peek through the gloom somewhere! If she could only rise through this curtain of fog to where the sky opened up before her, for out there (somewhere) waited Imoen, if she could only… if she could _only…_ "Just give me a moment."

Taking a step back, Sajantha leaned against a nearby house—the windows were boarded up, so they'd surely not mind—and squinted. If one star twinkled back, even just the faintest glimpse of one, then that would mean Imoen was alright. _Please._ If she—

Wait—there was that sound again! Muffled and moist. Was someone crying?

Raviwr looked around, and so did she: night painted the nearby buildings with darkness enough to drown out detail; vague lines and shapes gazed back at her.

The imp's pointing directed her eye. Movement—there!—just a hint, for not far past the lip of the alleyway a figure crouched, its shoulders a sharp silhouette against the shapes it hovered in front of.

She glanced up at Raviwr, but he only tilted his head in shared confusion, though he let out a hiss of displeasure—sounding not unlike his master—when she stepped forward. "Are you alright?" The alley somehow swallowed her voice, distorting the echo which should have rebounded off the close space.

Shoulders jerked—the figure faced her—already upright. Eyes caught the moonlight, glinting red. Glowing _._ The faint light glistened on its lips: red, again. Liberally streaked, a smear across its mouth. _Blood._ The mounds at its feet, then—

Blood.

The smell hung in the air, the taste of it—a coppery sharp tang—a winding, trembling recognition that wove through her veins and rooted her to the spot. She couldn't look away.

"Vampire!" Raviwr's digging claws punctuated his cry and shocked motion into her; Sajantha's hand flew to her side. And clenched the air.

No sword. She had no sword with her, no _armor—_

Teeth flashed in the gash widening across the creature's face; it smiled.

Sajantha spun. _Away,_ she had to get _away;_ her back prickled with the urgency of it (so fast it moved; so much faster than she ever could), a mindless flight through the night (to where, to nowhere, maybe right off the bridge). It didn't matter, it would still catch her, flesh ripping, tearing—

Something sharp stung her foot, turning to a burning when she splashed through a puddle, grit clinging to her sore feet. But she couldn't stop, she _couldn't_. A plan, she needed _a plan,_ and the word pounded through her with every thudding step.

 _Plan._ If she could just reach a weapon, keeping its attention, mayhap Raviwr could slip around behind it; imps had those poison stingers on their tails, didn't they? (And he had more spells than she.)

A weapon. _Where?_ She raced through a featureless dreamscape of blurred buildings and fog, and how could she focus upon anything when every stride slammed through her? The muscles of her back knotted in tension, anticipating the inevitable attack. But when it connected, the expected claws didn't strike, but a dose of _cold._ An icy mist swept over her, a laughing gale that spread like cold water drenching through her: it passed over her skin, under it.

Ducking her head, her steps turned to a stumbling and she blindly thrust out her arms. "Raviwr!" Howling wind tore the voice from her throat, flung it somewhere far. _Where—!_

Her hair whipped stinging lashes across her face and she clawed it away, clearing her vision—just in time to collide—something hard slammed into her stomach with enough force to knock her sideways. A crate, she'd rebounded off a crate, and wood cracked and splintered as a barrel beside it broke her fall.

Sajantha scrambled upright, ignoring the pain stabbing through her side and scraped palms, ignoring the blast of putrefied stench. Fruits—once the barrel had held fruits—now rotted almost to liquid, mixed with wooden fragments.

Wait— _wood!_ Stakes, right? Her hand fumbled through the the pulpy mess for a proper plank. Wooden stakes—through the heart—that would stop a vampire. When one didn't have a Red Wizard around to immolate them.

Whirling around, she thrust out the shard of wood. Black smoke rolled and roiled above, blotting out the gray clouds like ink. And… dispersed.

Gone—was it really gone? She held the makeshift stake outstretched another moment, her arm shaking with the effort. Why would it leave? But, then… why wouldn't it have just killed her, if it wished to? She lowered her arm.

A quiet cry reached her ears, a cry of pain. Gods, Raviwr—? Where was he _where was he._ Scanning the skies, Sajantha half-jogged, half-limped towards the sound. _Hurry,_ he was hurt—

Her vision tumbled—off-balance, she stumbled several steps—and took a moment to right itself; she turned around to see the large mass which had tripped her. Something soft, something wet. Something warm. (Someone.)

Sajantha's fingers trembled against her mouth.

Red glistened where skin ought to be, the fallen figure's outside (inside-out) slickness had gathered dirt (like the duck meat sprinkled in spices: pink and red and black).

Not a vampire's markings, these. Something else. Something… surgical.

Lips moved (the space where lips had _been)._ "Help me," whimpered a voice from the ground (a man without a face). "Please. _Help me."_ (staring staring on and on forever no eyelids cold eyes dead eyes)

 _Do you see?_

Cold, cold—it gathered inside her; grasping tendrils squeezed her lungs and the shadow inside her grew outward to spread behind her (looming over her). Her knees gave out with a shudder.

Something was wrong. Something was—

 _Black._

Everything went black.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _WHEW personal problems *and* writing problems, wee! xP sorry for the delay, and thanks to Kyn for help making this at least *slightly* less of a mess, heh.  
_

 _ _Jackslice [FR slang]: a murderous woman, or one who will get even through violence; someone dangerous  
_ Glitterpockets [FR slang]: stupid rich people, usually out to spend a lot of money  
(btw, __Samuel totally forks over a diamond in-game if you have Haer'Dalis in your party, saying a tall fellow left it for him. CURIOUS!)_

 _The last scene/upcoming scenes I wrote while listening to the Silent Hill soundtracks, which is where I got the chapter name! ("Major Surgery" was actually the track that I thought matched the vampire part, but that title didn't fit as well. ;P) Anyway blah blah blah Akira Yamaoka is amazing._

 _Thanks as always for your reviews; you guys have no idea how much it helps me. :')_


	16. Never Again

=S=

 _._

 _drip_

 _._

 _drip_

 _._

 _._

 _drip_

The sound trickled through the back of her mind, growing louder 'til it tickled her awake; Sajantha sucked in a gasp. And couldn't spit it out—it _stuck_ to her—so dense and cloying, like the rest of the foul (familiar) air.

 _Death_. Thick, the room was thick with it, an oily coating upon her skin, her throat—her eyes?—why couldn't she see! Too dark. Too _dark._

 _drip_

Stiff and aching, her body wouldn't obey her. Get up, _come on,_ just stand up—! Rope burned into her wrists, her ankles, and a sharp sting answered in her eyes. She couldn't move. She could not _move._

No. No. _No_ , not like this, in the dark, in the silence (alone)—

 _Irenicus_.

Her heart fluttered and sputtered in desperate plea, racing for an exit even if it had to leave the rest of her behind. Not that it could escape. (Rib cage, it was locked in a rib cage.)

A sound stuck (trapped) on her lips, too muffled to recognize as a laugh or sob: a cloth (a gag) had caught the sound.

 _drip_

A gag—she _would_ gag—with that smell all over her, touching her, filling her mouth _(_ _closer closer_ he was coming he was on his way).

Sajantha pulled again at the restraints. But… but _no._ Irenicus hadn't ever bound her (hadn't needed to). Slow breaths. Deep breaths.

 _Think._ (get out get out get out)

Out of where? Where was this?

 _Think._ Another smell burned her nostrils, the same sharp stink that hung about the slums. The southern Bridge District.

 _And?_ Feet bound to chair legs. Her muscles burned as she pointed her feet, toes cracking as she pushed against the slimy floor—there!—the chair wasn't bolted to anything: an inch, perhaps she'd raised the front legs an inch.

 _And then what?_ Without sight, without hands (without magic), just what could she do? Something something _do something_ (the waiting… the waiting was the worst).

Footsteps. Growing _closer._ She held her breath.

"...an inferior offering." Not Irenicus, not him. Of course not. _Breathe._ "Entirely unsuitable for our purposes; I don't know what you were thinking." The speaker sounded strange, chewing around his words as if his tongue was too thick for his mouth. The footsteps came to a stop. "The ritual has already been completed this night. There is little need for a new subject in any case."

"You do not know what this is, do you?" The second voice sounded torn between a demand and a plea.

"I know that it is damaged: useless to us."

"You say you seek the ultimate materials? Open your eyes!" _Eyes._ The skinless man's lidless eyes stared into her.

"I will not be bothered with this right now! Kill it and be done; it is time we were moving on. Someone was asking about tannin in the market."

The second man gave an impatient sigh. "They know nothing. Aegisfield is a fool."

"Wasn't Aegisfield. We don't have much time, I am thinking." More irritated than concerned.

 _'Kill it.' Her?_ Frozen, she sat frozen, cold and still. If they didn't know she was awake, maybe… (no magic no weapon _nothing)_ Surprise, though—Edwin always called that the greatest advantage—but just what might she _do_ with it?

Ears straining—alert for any movement—the volume of the sudden knocking overhead nearly jolted her from her seat.

"Even less time, at that," came a mutter. "Get going to the waterway; I'll be down presently. And Vellin: take care of this one."

Sajantha held in her breath as the footsteps receded, the stairs bearing creaking witness to a departure. One set of footsteps gone. What about the other?

Far, far overhead, wood creaked. Her lungs protested the air she refused to release. Blood pounded in her ears, obscuring any other sounds. Where was he— _where was he?_

A warm breath floated against her cheek, and Sajantha's head struck the back of the chair as she jerked away.

"Reijik says to kill you… but he has looked no deeper than your flesh. You could be so much more than just another disguise, I think." The speaker's chin rested on her shoulder as he breathed in her hair. "You would make a fine dancer."

"Get away from me." The gag masked her words, but her bravado sounded clearly so thin as it was.

A mocking laugh answered, along with a pressure (razor-thin, edge of a dagger) on her chest, between her breasts. Her heart raced even faster, as if it might escape the touch, escape past her crawling skin. (Heart trapped, rib cage, but with the right tools you could cut through it); the blade slid up to the hollow of her throat (carotid artery a little slip and it would spray and she would choke).

"We stitch together pretty things all the time. Do you think we can fix this?" Teasing, testing, he traced a line down—as if he could see it, beneath the fabric—her largest scar _._ "Or is it too late?"

The blood pounding through her pulsed at her bonds. Could she move her fingers? Her wrists ended in a numb tingle. Something, _do something—_

Snap after snap, cold in its wake—buttons broke off—the blade trailed down her dress. Her armor—gods!—she hadn't any armor; he was cutting off her _clothes_ —

A hand lay flat against her chest, and a wave of magic—cold as his touch—washed over her, filled her tight skin and stretched it, knitting it close. Chilly and slippery, this magic, with none of the burning light of the healing spells that had always singed her shut.

She leaned back to lose the heat of his breath, the only warmth around her. Too close, still too close, even if she couldn't see: fingers reached into her shoulder, and a thumb pressed against her old wounds. Tamoko's. The one from the Thieves' Guild. Sajantha gasped, eyes watering.

 _Death._ Its clammy hands fumbled at her.

The man in the alley without a face, without skin—

 _Don't. Don't let him—_

Kill him.

The focus sharpened inside her. Her muscles strained, straining, all of her locked in a single heartbeat: kill him. _Kill him._

So close. There wasn't any need to see him, when she could feel him, his breath on her (looming over her)—

 _Irenicus—_

KILL HIM

The force of her cry emptied her lungs: a flood of energy burst forth, every vein in her body a conduit for this cascading pressure—sound exploded in her ears (screaming someone screamed)—cold, ice-cold, as if it leeched away the very warmth in her blood.

The inside of her head spun in a rush of vertigo—she flew back—a slam knocked all the air from her as the chill settled deeper, expanded, expended.

Horizontal. Still in the chair. Her head had cracked against the floor, but nothing sharper: no knives. The floor was cool, save for the spreading warmth reaching to puddle at her cheek.

"Where—!" A curse split the air, an angry snarl and a clattering upon the stairs. "Vellin! It is time to go!"

 _Kill him_ , her own voice, distant. Dwindling. Bleeding out _(drip drip drip)_.

"What did you—!" Another curse. The sound of dragging, something thick and heavy. Dead, was he dead?

The hand, the breath, was gone at last. Everything was gone. Lying on her side—still tied to the chair—a crack in her blindfold allowed her to see. But what was there to see—?

An explosion of light tore through the room with force enough to rattle the walls and her teeth, and with brightness enough to blind her. Not an arcane spell, though—just what—? The cold coiling in the pit of her belly had disappeared, and she tried to blink the sparks from her eyes.

A pair of feet thundered down the stairs. Heavy. Armored. "Foul creatures! You will not harm another soul!" The man's voice was full of righteous fury, an invigorating strength.

 _Kill him._ The conviction sang in her veins, a humming vibration that itched beneath her skin. _Kill them both._

Running feet pounded over creaking wood; the shouts and spells grew distant. Downstairs, they'd gone downstairs.

Arms tied tight behind her, Sajantha twisted on the floor. Was there anything to see yet? Or just the narrow strip of light at the edge of her blindfold? Only a whiff of sulphur hung in the air, some bitter acrid stink; something burned. And then even sound vanished—a sudden stillness replaced the loud crashes and bursts of noise, a quiet void in which she alone seemed to linger—the fight had finished. But who had _won?_

Was that… footsteps? Or just her imagination? Gods! How could she hear anything over her own harsh breathing?

But… a shadow. _That_ wasn't her imagination, no, she wasn't imagining the patch of darkness that expanded before her and slowly erased all light from her sight as it grew—closer—filled her eyes, her heart—

Her scream had no words, mouth working around the rest of her gag until the sound broke loose. "Don't!" She thrashed—still bound to the chair—the rest of her body would not obey her: the only part of her free was her mouth, and her voice shredded the silence; jagged as broken glass, it tore through her throat. "Don't touch me!"

"Peace." The deep voice cut through the air. "You've naught to fear from me."

Only his shadow stretching over her, the shadow was all she could see of him (looming over her), and Sajantha wrenched back—the world took a moment to catch up, as if the inside of her head blurred—she panted into the cloth still half-caught between her teeth.

"This darkness…" he murmured, as if to himself. "What has been done to you?"

 _"Don't touch me."_ Had she managed to spit the words out, or had she simply choked on them, so raw and dry was her throat.

 _"Peace,"_ said the voice again, deep and calm and certain.

There was no mistaking the command in it, now—the force of that rumbled word might have leveled her, had she been on her feet—it engulfed her like a wave, in its wake a welcome stillness. Sajantha sagged back against her bonds.

"I am a paladin of Torm. I mean you no harm; I swear it. You are safe now. "

The rest of her breath left her, trailing out. _Safe…?_ The syllable echoed nonsensically in her head, lacking all meaning. But a… a _paladin._ Her mind worked sluggishly, attempting to assemble a context for it. Paladin: safe.

"I am going to untie you."

His voice might be calming, but his touch hardly was when she couldn't see it coming (when she couldn't move); she flinched, and endured the moment of dizziness as her overturned chair returned to vertical.

The man (paladin, he was a paladin) carefully cut loose the thick rope that had burned grooves into her skin before casting off the cloths still half-covering her face.

Sajantha winced at the dryness of her mouth, her chapped lips. Not enough light, but somehow even the dimness hurt her eyes. The room shook— _she_ shook.

With a glowing wave of energy, the paladin cleared the air, as if that oppressive darkness didn't linger in the corners, as if it could be swept away like so much detritus beneath a rug: out of sight, not yet out of mind. Perhaps the coldness inside her was something dark as well, buried too deep to see.

A face, weathered and unfamiliar, hovered over her, brows drawn upward in concern. Every line upon him underscored a reassuring maturity, drawn around the gravity of warm gray eyes–

"My name is Keldorn Firecam," her rescuer said.

And there left the last trickle of strength as her remaining adrenaline leaked out. _Safe._ Here stood a paladin in truth, for there could be no feigning such a holy aura, no mistaking that steady calm, nearly strong enough to draw into herself. She let out a wavering breath to make room for it.

"They—they–" She could not speak. Still in the chair but no longer bolted to it, she could not sit still; her legs rocked violently.

Keldorn's voice sounded soft for all his certainty, "They will not harm you."

"Are they dead?" She gripped the edges of her seat to keep her fingers still. _Dead,_ let them all be dead—

He looked away, and her gaze followed. Blood. Blood everywhere: long-dried gore stained the floor around a fresh red streak towards the stairs. And, there, the source of the dripping: a victim (what was left of it) splayed across a table. As if the smell in the air—the taste—hadn't already given it away.

Two other bodies—three, if those segments counted—lay about the room. Decomposing: not her captors. _(_ _Dead,_ were they dead—?) Sajantha dragged her gaze back to the paladin, wetting her lips.

"They are gone." He took a moment to deliver the words, as if they pained him to admit. "I fear they have escaped."

Her stomach dropped. _Escaped?_ They were _out there_ somewhere, then—they'd be waiting, biding their time, just like—just like–

 _Him._

"You have nothing to fear from them any longer," Keldorn assured her. "I do not believe they will return to this city."

But they could.

 _You do not leave enemies free to plot behind your back._

He let out a weighty sigh. "Would that I had arrived sooner, that you might have been spared this."

Sooner? How much sooner, for it to have mattered?

"Are you alright?" Gentle, his voice was the most gentle of nudges.

Sajantha lifted her gaze, and the instinctive affirmation, the _lie,_ curled up in her throat, limp and heavy like something dead. His eyes, those impossibly kind eyes–

The entire chair now shook with the force of her trembling. There was far too much death here to pretend. _Are you alright?_ "No," she whispered, though the confession proved just as difficult to dislodge. "No, I'm not." Not in such a long time.

The patience on his face was humbling; how could she bear to look at him?

"Can you stand?"

She closed her eyes. She could not even speak, did not try to—just shook her head. Her whole body shook already; mayhap he couldn't even tell.

A light weight spilled over her shoulders—a cascade of deep violet, the silken drapery of his cloak—and she clutched it against her.

The paladin knelt down, and this time when he reached out to her, she reached back, and he lifted her with ease. With her head buried in his shoulder she did not have to look at their surroundings; she did not have to look at anything, least of all those warm gray eyes that sparkled out from a memory she had lost long before. She clung to him and did not let go.

Cold as his armor was, his arms somehow kept her warm.

* * *

Somehow, having company rendered the Bridge District an entirely different place than the haunting landscape she'd earlier sped through; even without the fog to obscure it, nothing looked familiar, and only the nearby sounds of the sea could orient her as they left the stink of the tannery behind.

Keldorn walked with great purpose, as if her weight burdened him not at all, even on top of his plate-mail _and_ that greatsword slung across his back. Older he might be, but the years had not left him weak.

Sajantha studied him as he spoke, his close-cropped gray beard and light brown hair streaked with white, the crooked nose that had surely once been broken, and the small scars marking all across his face, some new, some old. Did he have such scarring everywhere? Of course not, certainly not so much—that was stupid—that was why warriors wore so much armor, wasn't it? She tugged the cloak he'd lent her farther down over her torn dress. At least he had no elven night-sight to see her (her scars) any clearer.

 _Stop it,_ stop thinking about that; focus on what he was saying!

"…I've returned to the city just recently, only to hear these murders have been going on for nearly a month! Past time someone took action, the way they flaunted their evil."

Serial killers! Making no secret of it, either, for leaving the evidence all about."Shouldn't the Order have done something sooner?"

"Ah." His brow wrinkled a bit. "I fear the Order's concerns are often of a larger scale, though if ever a scale existed to judging such evil, only Tyr may know it."

She had come so near to dying—or something worse– The skinless man's mouth whispered. (Dead. He'd be dead by now. _Not everyone can be saved.)_

Sajantha dragged her eyes back to her rescuer, mouth dry. "How… how did you even find me?" If he'd been any later…

"Evil like this cannot remain undetected," he answered. "I am only thankful I arrived in time to prevent further atrocity."

 _This_ atrocity, maybe. "There's a lot of awful things going on." Right below their very city, those tunnels beneath the Promenade (cold metal floors creaking hinges). "I don't think most people care to notice."

"There is no lack of crime on the streets these days," he agreed. "I'm afraid Athkatla is far from a safe place. You should take care in these parts, even in the daylight. There is danger under every rock, it seems." Keldorn gave his head a shake. "I have a daughter about your age. I would hate to find that she took to wandering such streets at night."

'Wandering!' Her face heated. But… a daughter. This sort of personal conversation belonged over tea and biscuits, not with her arms around his neck! When she'd only just met him. Yet her grip tightened. "Well, the streets are a little safer now at least, right?" The vampire, though, the vampire still out there…

She gave him a shaky smile.

His own smile grew to fill his face. "I can only hope. All I have worked at is to make this world a better place for my daughters."

"They're lucky to have someone who cares so much about them. Someone so brave and noble."

"I thank you. Though in truth I've always felt myself as the lucky one." His steps slowed: the Five Flagons stood before them, its windows glowing bright.

So far from the tanners' (skinners') basement, the darkness remained only in her mind, as if to keep the memory from standing out too sharp: all soft shadows and a cold numbness at odds with the warm light pouring free of the inn.

"Well." Sajantha shifted a little. "Um. We're here."

All his warmth left her as he let her slip down, and it was her will alone that kept her knees from knocking. She could have slid to the ground so easily, kept sliding to sink into the cobblestones with her dress puddling out around her, a drop of liquid spreading out too thin.

The cloak fluttered against the back of her legs as she found her balance. A short fit on Keldorn—it must have hung but to his knees for mobility—for on her it nearly swept the ground. (And covered enough of the missing buttons.)

Though of course he'd need it back—with its gloriously royal purple border! some mark of station?—she fumbled at the cloak clasp. Beneath the unsettling light of the Flagons' windows, the neck of the dress fell open and she focused one hand upon holding that shut whilst removing the cloak with the other. Had he—had he seen? "H-here."

But when he reached out, 'twas only to return the fabric to her shoulders. He brushed her hair aside and latch the clasp, the simple gesture so painfully _paternal,_ and heat rose to her eyes, breath catching in her nose, and—gods!—why did she always have to cry about everything?

"Keep it." He stepped back, his generous smile turning to one of concern: "You're sure you do not wish for healing? I fear I've no such skill myself, but I would take you to a temple."

"No. No, it's alright." However strange his casting, her captor had healed her. The wound on her scalp afterward had not bled too long. She worked to summon up a smile, for there weren't words enough: "Thank you."

* * *

Magic filled the sitting room upstairs. Not that she could sense it any longer, but its scent lingered with a whiff in the air, like burning, only nothing so acrid.

Strange, to be walking again—her feet had almost forgotten how to—and climbing two flights took far more effort than it aught; Sajantha almost missed a step when she released the banister. Slow steps took her into the middle of the common room, where a wizard sat upon the couch, papers and scrolls strewn about him.

"So, our errant escapist deigns to return at last." Edwin trimmed each syllable to terseness. "I hope you enjoyed your little excursion. (You smell worse than you did from the sewers.)"

"I…" The room wavered in and out of focus. Her hand came up to her forehead, as if that might steady this tumult inside her. "I'm going to bed."

His face reddened, taking such dismissal for insult—or challenge. "What did I _just say_ about this negligent behavior? Do you forget our conversations as soon as we speak them? When I give instruction, you do not question me. And you certainly do not blatantly defy my direction—"

She turned away. "I don't want to do this right now." Too long on her feet just from treading the stairs: she needed to fall, fall asleep, and Edwin's anger rubbed so abrasively not just against her ears, but all of her, raw.

"And my time is so less valuable? I did not wish to waste my evening dealing with this, either!"

"I _walked outside_ —all I did was walk outside." Was this her fault, too? That the world itself was so out to get her? "I'm sorry I can't do anything right—I'm sorry I can't do _anything!"_ This string of failures left behind her just dragged on and on. Hands clenched, she headed for her room. "But, gods—not right now. Don't yell at me right now."

He reached after her as she passed the couch. "Is it so difficult for you to take the time to _think_ —"

"Don't!" The buzzing beneath her skin rose to her ears; she jerked her arm out of his grasp, vision darkening. _"Don't touch me."_

And the frustration left his eyes at last—but even his confusion cut sharp, calculating—until the gaze delving hers lifted away. To the doorway.

"Your friend was captured by dangerous necromancers." The disapproval in the deep voice was mixed with disbelief.

Keldorn—he'd followed her upstairs? Sajantha blinked. Her head might well have been stuffed with cotton for how slowly her thoughts churned within it.

Edwin's fingers flexed, but he awarded the paladin naught but the barest glance. "Oh, 'friend', is it? (Honestly, where is she finding these fools?)" His gaze flicked back towards her. "Do you so long for the company of idiots you must go out in search of more? I thought you had collected enough of them."

Sajantha grit her teeth. "Aye, I thought I stopped with _you."_ 'Friend.' He had to say it like that, so full of scorn? _Red Wizards do not have friends,_ he'd told them all last year, but surely… surely…

"These were no simple madmen." Keldorn wielded his words with a sharp edge. "They were a considerable evil, already responsible for the murders of many. If I had not arrived–"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure we're all quite grateful. Are you lingering about in the hopes of being rewarded for your 'considerable' efforts?"

"That is far from my intention." Though his voice stayed even, Keldorn's spine was stiff; he was likely as offended as Edwin had no doubt intended. "I am not in this profession for coin."

"No? How wonderfully self-righteous of you. Now that your good deed of the day is done (and such a close call, to delay it so late), you may—with all haste— _remove yourself_." Edwin punctuated his words with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Such self-control did the older man have that he only drew in a breath, a furrow through his brow.

Why—why did he have to be like that? Sajantha wrung her hands together. "Forgive Edwin, please; no number of blows to the head have been able to knock any sense into him."

"Says the girl who misplaces her wits on a regular basis." He didn't miss a beat. "And, oh: managed to run straight into a den of murderous psychopaths, how keen she is to seek out danger. Do us a favor and try a little less harder to get yourself killed in the future; this constant need for rescuing grows tiresome."

"Sorry to be such an _inconvenience."_ The lights in the room blurred together, searing through her head.

"Your 'sorries' are not worth the breath you waste to say them. Next time, try using your brain! Just what did you think would happen? You attract trouble like a midden heap attracts flies!"

Scream, she was going to scream at him—or cry (and cry and cry)—the pressure filled up her head 'til it pulsed, but Keldorn still stood waiting. Calm. He had calmed her with a word. _Peace._ She could remember that, clutch after that, surely. A breath, take a breath. No blood here. Calm.

When the wave died down, it left her empty. Had a smile ever weighed so much? She tried to hold it in place. "Your aid was quite appreciated, Sir Keldorn. I don't even know how to thank you." What irony! How often had she been on this side of things? "If there's anything we can do for you..."

Those gray eyes softened as he smiled back at her. Soft, soft, with gloves of velvet they wrenched at her heart. "Take care of yourself, young lady. I would ask nothing more of you."

"As if she did not have a team assigned to this very task already! See what good it has done her. (Imbeciles, the lot of them. They would be slumbering in ignorance if I had not–)"

"Edwin," Sajantha tilted up her chin as she walked past him into her room, "shut up."

* * *

=E=

Why was the armored dolt still here? When Edwin sat back, the paladin's steely gray eyes were waiting. One could surely make a comparison to the keenness of the blade he wielded, if one were willing to make the effort. He stifled a yawn.

"Friend or no, the young lady has undergone a terrible experience. She should be treated with care."

A lecture? How droll. Perhaps the lout had not yet met his daily quota of preaching pointless rhetoric.

"Is that so?" Edwin set aside his spellbook. "I'm sure a heart so _noble_ as your own cannot begin to fathom the terrible experiences 'the young lady' has undergone. And while she could do to improve in the dealing with them, it is simply another day in the life of a, ah, adventurer." How quickly would the man change his tune, knowing he had rescued the offspring of his god's enemy?

He would look at Sajantha with the same cold eyes he now narrowed unto Edwin. "I know not why she shares company with such a snake as you, but I can only hope that reason is enough for you to look after her."

Snakes again, was it? Edwin leaned forward. "Begone, old man. You will leave her in my competent hands. Have my assurances that I will be 'looking after' her." He gave the paladin a smile. "I protect my investments."

"Then see that you take more care in doing so."

Bah! As if the simian had the slightest idea what it was like to juggle so many components when one of them was constantly trying to escape the confines of its orbit!

A cloud of magic erupted in the air between them, a shadow beneath it taking form; smoke cleared to reveal his familiar hopping about, beating his wings to boost his height. "We found her, Master! When the warding disappeared–"

"Yes, yes." _Timely,_ that. "You are dismissed."

"Raviwr will watch her."

"Fine. Alright. _Go."_

"Raviwr will–"

"Shut up! You will shut up." _Gods!_ On his feet now, and the paladin standing beside him was taller than he had looked. Edwin sneered at him. "Overworked your muscles at the expense of exercising your brain? Begone." Imbeciles _abound._ Was it more aggravating that she had run into trouble once again, or that she had required rescue from such a one?

The paladin still stood there. (At least Raviwr had obeyed without further embarrassment.)

"Have you come to enjoy the view?" Or these religious sorts reveled in penances and suffering, didn't they. "If you wish to challenge me, I will obligingly melt you within your armor." Heat pulsed through him, surging from the knot in his neck down to his fingertips, and his vision flickered with stabs like sparks. Two nights without sleep left too many spells unsorted in his mind; they battered through his head and reached down into his fingers, readied for attack. _Leave,_ if the man would just _leave—!_

"Be _gone,_ I said!" The back of his mind intuitively—rebelliously!—began to assemble the necessary weaves, and with a shudder, Edwin clenched down on the instinctive flames that drained him further even before the command to ignite—

 _"Silence."_

—which did not come. As if he had even wished to fight like this! But the paladin… he had… he had dared—! A _silence._

Blasted couch! It struck the back of Edwin's knees as he stepped out of range, eyes on the man's sword. Not that the old fool had drawn it, though he _could_ have in the time it took to activate his earrings' remaining enchantment, a single dispel. The blistering cold of his glyph would be welcome, so welcome, but the old man only watched him, not hostile. (Not in the _literal_ sense.)

His nails dug into his palms. Gods _damn it._ That blasted girl, _she'd_ done this, had brought the paladin here—had brought _Edwin_ here—he'd not even be in this worthless city, if not for her!

Her power.

 _Yes._ Edwin steadied his breaths. Her powers only _increased—_ soared far past the capabilities of even the most talented of archmages—with her emotions, her desperation. Impossible, the girl was impossible (in every sense of the word), and if he could channel even the barest _fraction_ of that logic-defying force, the paladin would presently be in too many pieces to ever interfere with anyone again.

The old man had not moved, and gave a nod as if unsurprised. "Good hearts rest easy. Sleep well, Thayvian."

He kept his breaths measured as the old man departed. And even if the corners of the room would not stay still, Edwin did, remaining standing 'til the retreating footsteps faded from hearing, then sank back into the couch.

And slammed his fist down upon the table. Loose papers fluttered free in leisurely swoops to the ground, as if mocking. Was there no end to this mess! "Clean that up." Where had the idiot imp gone to?

A _spell_ were the odds of this? But of course such a magic-fearing city would make much use of their ilk.

Edwin rubbed his hands together. In Thay, such specialists went by their title, 'Masters of Torture,' for few were allowed to pursue such anti-magic practices save those intended to root out disloyalty. Ugh. Just being _near_ the man made his skin crawl.

 _Footsteps._

Surging to his feet, it took a moment for his familiar's calm presence to sink in.

A servant, only a servant: the pageboy walked past, carrying one of the inn's ridiculous washtub contraptions.

Raviwr flapped a loop around the boy, circling back to Edwin. "You's not even trying, Master. Raviwr will win this game."

What did the fool thing… Oh. _Sajantha._ The two stood outside her door. "We are on the same side, you worthless sack of excrement!" A sharp pain speared behind his eyes. Blast this headache! The bedamned divination spells had left his temples still pounding.

Edwin returned heavily to his seat. _Necromancers._ Of course it had been spellcasters, for magics had blocked his search 'til the paladin had pulled her free of the warded building. At least _something_ had gotten through. Time to summon his remaining searchers. And… perhaps send word to the rest of the party.

"I've not the time to be distracted by this constant requiring of supervision." Necromancers! She was a veritable magnet for danger. As well as for having others swoop in to aid her. Fortuitous, that, but this would not continue to work. (Especially not if she intended to continue encountering obnoxious holy warriors.) "I've not yet had any time to translate the Scroll!" How many more nights could be wasted without results?

"Scroll no good without her, Master."

Not for his purposes, certainly. "Her continued safety is imperative." That blood in her hair—but she'd said she possessed healing potions, yes?

" 'Survival,' Master said," Raviwr reminded.

"Yes. As I said." Edwin kneaded his forehead. "You will continue to watch her."

The imp looped towards her door–

"Raviwr! There is no need to interrupt her bathing."

"But Master says most dangerous when–"

"I know what I said!" But something did not sit right. "I will summon something else. Perhaps something that will not slam headfirst into a warding and allow itself to be knocked unconscious." Truly, he should not be allowing his familiar so far from him at all. If something had happened… Gods! If something had happened to _Sajantha,_ and all this work came to naught… The paladin's face appeared in his mind, coldly smug, and Edwin grimaced.

"Something that will not misinterpret literal orders for its own amusement." He glared at the shadow wraith, which had taken its time to return. Notorious for their willful misconstruing of commands, but few options existed for a creature both capable of protecting her and remaining unseen.

 _"You wished this one to protect her from harm."_ With its inhuman voice, more a buzzing sort of breath, the shadow's words were difficult to discern. _"None tried to harm her. The necromancer healed her."_

"What of the blood on her face?"

 _"This injury was done to herself."_

"For future reference, being taken captive by unhinged magi does not fall under acceptable parameters." This should not need to be spelled out.

 _"The vampire only tried to scare her."_

"Vampire!" The clan promised they would give him no trouble—did this not extend to his companions?—or was this an additional concern (as if he did not already have enough)! _Gods._ Better to just leave this wretched city. And all within it.

 _"It took some time to reform after the holy one's dispel. He will recognize this one. The sorceress… she senses this one, too. You know what she is?"_

"Of course I do."

A dry, crackling sound. Laughter. _"Then do not expect this one to remain undetected for long."_

What alternatives were available? A demon could not be assigned—far too much chaos at once!—and devils were little better. Edwin turned through his spellbook. A vastly cataloged bestiary, yet could a single creature in it be entrusted with another's life? He had never needed one for such a purpose before. But 'twas not as if he possessed enough spare time to allow it all to be endlessly tangled with—

A door creaked open. Sajantha peered out from behind it, wet hair curling droplets onto her shoulders. She looked past him. "Thank you for calling a bath for me, Raviwr."

The imp puffed up, full of satisfaction. So easily led, that one, hungry for even crumbs of her attention and uncaring what a fool he looked; even Edwin's disdain did nothing to deflate him.

"Sajantha." Edwin leaned forward.

Only then did her gaze reach him, though the wounded side of her head still hid from view. (Ought he ask? Surely she would have healed it.) Her chin tipped up. "Are you going to apologize?"

"You are the one who ran off without warning! Why would _I_ apologize?"

The door snapped shut.

Nothing expendable within range to throw at his cackling familiar: "This is not funny, you stupid thing!"

* * *

=S=

 _"To better know how to take a life, one must know how life is made." Her captor pointed to her chest. "Do you feel that?" The rhythm of her heart, that had begun as a pounding drum and now fluttered, sporadic, like a wounded bird. "This carries life to all the parts of the body." His hand traveled upward. "The carotid is the largest artery, here—" his chilling touch pressed in— "in the neck. Disrupt it, and the body will not last beyond a handful of minutes." He gestured to the figure on the table. "Make the incision here."_

 _She closed her eyes. "No." Don't look, don't see. If she wasn't looking, she couldn't… she couldn't…_ " _Please."_

 _A pause, a silence that his attention dug deeper._ " _You require another firsthand example, then?" Displeasure frosted his voice a shade colder._

"N- _no—!"_

Skin, skin, she touched her skin, cracks and seams but smooth enough (no blood). The prickling on her skin grew stronger—seized her insides—and she ducked her head and retched.

The burning in her eyes hurt as much as the burning in her throat.

The candle had gone out. She fumbled for another one, for the flint and tinder, and the shadows surged into solid forms—deeper, darker—even as they fell back, banished to the corners of the room.

Curl up beneath the blankets. Warm, at least, if not safe. But she'd thrown up on them. There—kicked to the floor, wadded in a pile where she'd not have to smell them; her gut still quivered.

Cold, though. What could she… Keldorn's cloak. _No_. It still stunk of the tannery (part of a body on a table, part beneath it _drip drip drip_ ); she flung the cloak into the corner.

The nightdress she'd borrowed—soaked with sweat—only made the chill worse. Take that off, too. Too warm, too warm to be so cold. No sleep, now. Would she lie here the last few hours just waiting for the sun? If she were going to be awake anyway, oughtn't she do something, something that might help Imoen?

But _what?_ She couldn't leave the inn, could she, not without tripping into her own grave or getting kidnapped by someone harvesting whatever pieces of her were actually useful. Gods. Had Keldorn really saved her from having her skin peeled _off?_

The ridge down her chest… her fingers traced over it… not as prominent now. Perhaps even faded. Something ironic, there.

The candlelight shivered as it danced. She shivered, too. Pulled the sheets from the bed and rolled up inside them. And didn't think about the time the sheets had turned into spiders, didn't feel them crawling all over her, didn't think about Imoen's laughter as she pretended the wild magic surge didn't bother her.

Didn't think.

Didn't sleep.

* * *

The memory of that surge inside her had already grown distant, like the blindfold had obscured the entire recollection. Magic? Whatever it was, it had struck her captor—hadn't he screamed?—Though it hadn't _felt_ like any magic. (Not hers.) But what else could…

The lingerings scents reached through her nose to dig at her stomach, and Sajantha shuddered, a wave of nausea gripping at her. Out of her room, get out of her room.

Kicking loose the sheets, she stumbled to the floor, and pain stabbed her shin—with a ringing clatter— _ow,_ the tub, she'd struck the empty tub; she hopped a few steps holding her leg with gritted teeth, and let go only to give the stupid thing a more purposeful kick. It made an almost apologetic squeak against the wood floor.

Gods. So intent on her exit, she'd nearly missed the minor detail of being _unclothed._ The nightdress lay in a limp soggy heap, but remained a better choice than the ruined dress and its missing buttons. Another expense, to replace it.

 _Expenses._ Something twinkled in the corner of her mind. _Oh_ —the diamond! She sank to her knees and rummaged through the fabric. No. _No no no,_ the pocket was empty, and nothing glittered on the ground; she ran her hands across the floorboards and picked at the rug. Even under it.

Nothing.

Gods, gods _dammit,_ why did everything always—! The tub so badly begged another kick, and Sajantha bit down hard on her tongue to smother her cry, fingers fisting in her hair.

Maybe… maybe the diamond had fallen (between blood-soaked slats) at the tannery, and she could… she could what? Go _back_ there? She'd also knocked into those crates outside—who the hells knew where!—so would she search the entire district? Another person would surely find it first. Though, maybe… maybe a beggar child would run across it. Someone else who needed it. (More than Imoen?) She let out the breath that her lungs held too tight.

Oh—the boys who'd taken the laundering—had they returned it yet? Mayhap she had something to wear after all! Sajantha wrapped the sheets around her, then opened the door to peek out.

Only to see a figure seated at the couch—she very nearly slammed the door shut, so fast did her heart speed up—but… but it was only Yoshimo—the back of his head—he wasn't even facing her, so he didn't notice when she knelt down to gather the bundle of cleaned clothes and backed into her room, though he probably heard the door shut. And the clatter of boots she dropped.

What was _he_ doing out there? Not that it made sense for _any_ one to be out there this time of night— _morning._ She frowned at the window, where the faintest glow of pink had begun at the edges of the curtains.

Lifting her old cloak from the stack, she brought it to her nose and breathed deep. Something fresh to the scent, but no spell components: of course their methods would be far more mundane, if effective; the cloak had regained its blue shimmer and lost its stain of blood.

After getting dressed, she stared at the door. Edwin wasn't out there, at least, after the way he'd been talking to her—talking _at_ her—gods! But, Yoshimo… it would be safe to talk to him.

The Kozakuran had kicked back upon the couch, but he was awake, for his head moved a bit as the door shut behind her.

Sajantha leaned back into the welcoming cushions of one of the armchairs, drawing her bare feet under her, and pulled the cloak close. A cozy setup, this, from the comfortable furniture to the company; she tried to focus on relaxing the tension that kept her spine so straight."You're up early."

Shifting closer to a seated position, Yoshimo nodded his head towards the sunrise at the window. "This, it is a clear time to think. Things make more sense when the bustle of the world is not there to bombard your ears."

"Oh?" She leaned forward, hand supporting her chin. He'd hardly seemed so philosophical as that before! What else didn't she know about him? Just what was he thinking about?

His lips quirked. "You forget I room with Minsc, yes?"

Oh. A _joke._ The corners of her mouth tugged a moment in response. "He snores, doesn't he?" Imoen had been convinced Dynaheir had always set a silence ward on their tent, though her imagined explanations for that had been far less dull. "I'm sorry."

Yoshimo waved a dismissive hand. "It is no matter most nights. But this…"

 _This_ night, none of them had gotten much sleep because of her. (Though sleep was hardly the worst thing they'd lost due to her.) Sajantha picked at the fabric at the seams of the armrest. "It's _too_ quiet."

"It can be. This is what keeps you up? Edwin told us of your capture."

Her ears heated. "Did he? Told you how stupid I was, how careless and reckless?"

"No." Yoshimo smiled. "Though these were some of the words Miss Jaheira threw at him."

"It wasn't his fault." She sank further into the chair. He'd only be _more_ angry at her now. Why did he have to make her feel like such a child? Why did she have to ruin everything—was this really all her fault? Maybe if the necromancers hadn't found her, they'd have dragged back another instead. At least no one else had needed to suffer. (But someone would, wherever they went to next…) She shivered.

"You do need to be more careful." Yoshimo's voice was soft. "I have heard of something using the cover of darkness to hunt: the Thieves' Guild is losing members rapidly. The necromancers were not the only dangerous thing out there."

"Vampires," she whispered, not looking up 'til the silence had dragged on a moment.

"Ah." Yoshimo cleared his throat. "Vampires are incredibly dangerous creatures, yes. You saw one?"

Sajantha nodded, hard, clenching her hand against the cushion. "It could have killed me." It should have. It _would_ have, if it had wanted to. And her with that piece of wood, as if she could get so close as to stab it! She should be dead.

(A hundred times over.)

Not, not... not _careful._ She needed to be more… _more._ _You could be so much more._

She needed to figure all this out, so something so simple as walking outside after dark couldn't threaten her. Even if there _were_ vampires.

One step at a time. Start somewhere _._ Anomen was going to help her to use her sword… "Could you teach me how to use a dagger?" _(Make the incision here.)_ "F-fight with one, I mean."

And Yoshimo stared at her a moment—remembering the day he'd first tried to hand one to her?—before his smile returned to his face. "Of course."

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:**

 _(Another Silent Hill track title!)_

 _A 'spellbreaker' is a variant of the inquisitor class… seemed like a logical leap given Athkatla, ha! (Okay, maybe I did it to mess with Edwin.) So is the 'torture master,' which certainly seemed to fit Thay, ack._

 _*Just going to gloss over the fact old-style tanneries are so foul-smelling that they aren't allowed within city limits because… hey, the game ignored it. ;P*_

 _I feel like it's kinda messy, sorry, it's so much harder to deal with the scenes I wrote a really long time ago. As always, thanks for any suggestions/feedback! :D_


	17. Redefining

**[Author's Note]:** _Okay, quick bringing you all back up to speed since it's been awhile~_

 _Where we left our adventurers: Keldorn pulls Sajantha out of the skinners' bloody playroom, and the appearance of the mage-hunting paladin upsets Edwin almost as much as Sajantha disappearing in the first place! Exhausted and cranky (no, not worried; Red Wizards don't worry), and as always unable to channel any emotions aside from anger, he unsurprisingly continues to make an ass out of himself! Sajantha tells him to shut up! Raviwr laughs! It was quite funny; you should probably read it again._

* * *

=S=

Talking to Yoshimo had passed some of the time, but not enough of it, and Sajantha couldn't insist he waste the last hour before sunrise with her just to keep her nightmares at bay.

The door closed behind her.

She didn't have to sleep, after all; she could lie down (and rest) while keeping control of her mind. (Couldn't she?)

Her bed dominated the corner, blank and empty, its contents spread across the floor where they'd landed in her flight, and Sajantha navigated to dodge the worst of the blankets' dirtiness, but dampness still met her toes.

Edwin would have a spell to help clean them, just as he'd that spell to help heat her. Not that he would be so generous as to spare one. And she didn't have any such spells, didn't have anything (except that dark cold thing stirring restless). _This darkness… what has been done to you?_

Something moved in her chest—her heart, it must have skipped a beat—

(not her not her no)

 _No._ No no no. Sajantha climbed into the cold bed, resting her head against the pillow where she could stare at the ceiling instead of the shadows gathered around. Nothing had happened earlier, just… just the healing spell the skinner had sent creeping across her skin. _We stitch together pretty things all the time._ And Keldorn said they'd escaped; the bodies hadn't been theirs (but so many so much blood).

But, something _…_ (magic?) had rippled through her (hadn't it?) desperate and reaching, cold and seeking—

What had she done?

 _What have you done?_ her father had asked upon seeing (her first victims) the cats she'd had to kill.

Had to.

They were threats they were dangerous—

The blade slid to the hollow of her throat, the skinner's laugh mocking in her ear.

They deserved it they all deserved it—

No. _No!_ Sajantha wrenched her thoughts away. The past, the _past:_ it couldn't touch her. Not real, not real, just as she'd pleaded to the wraith that dogged her dreams. (Except sometimes he was.)

The bed was real, this still-sweaty sheet beneath her. Solid. Steady. She evened her breaths, one hand gripping the sheets, the other clutching after her dagger.

Stiletto, Yoshimo had named it, for stabbing (not slicing; she'd been using it wrong); with enough force, it could punch through even armor. _Stabbing._ No precision to it, really (no art)—Irenicus's form shimmered briefly in her mind, as if disapproving.

It was almost morning by now.

Had to be.

But if she walked to the window and drew the curtains open and it _wasn't_ , then all she'd see in the dark glass would be her face (not her) staring back.

She clenched the hilt and closed her eyes.

* * *

=E=

Contrary to the paladin's duplicitous wish, Edwin did in fact sleep well. As well as could be expected in the spare hours allotted, to be sure, but enough to sooth the ragged edges from his mind and refresh him for future spellwork (provided no more of those damned divinations were required!).

Ignoring the serving wench's attempts to press a full plate at him—though the food here at least lacked the preponderant grease of the Coronet—Edwin took a seat beside the group's full table. Full, though Sajantha had not yet appeared: the paladin sat with them.

And so quickly did the pounding pressure behind his eyes return. Gods! The fool would not be _joining_ with them, would he? Dealing with one of these holy headaches was punishment enough for anyone. Edwin reached for a potion to better clear his head; he'd not suffer through any more of this than necessary.

The old man and the rest of the monkeys appeared lost in pointless chatter, churning through the rote of 'polite conversation' (such a nonsensical waste of time!), before the paladin's likely senile brain at last recalled his purpose: he stared at them in turn, with a studied somberness that surely impressed his devoted underlings, his hands clasped before him on the table. "Sajantha suffers a great malady of spirit. I... I fear for her, though it be not my place."

Not his place, indeed! "It is your interference which engenders malaise." As if she needed the coddling of parental figures at this juncture! How quickly his work would regress.

The paladin's gray gaze connected with Edwin with the swiftness of a sword thrust, the extra table between them offering little barrier. _If looks could kill._ Yes, the feeling was _entirely_ mutual.

Jaheira bowed her head. "I think she holds far too much inside. But she will not confide in us. She is so… so distant, so formal around me. I do not…" The Harper grimaced. "If you could speak with her, I wonder if that would not be of some aid to her."

Small surprise Sajantha had told them nothing. _They don't know,_ she'd said. _They don't know anything._

"Secrets only fester," the rogue said. "Better cut them free before too much damage is done."

"Yes, Boo says they go rotten on the insides. We do not wish this to happen to our Sajantha!"

As if her secrets might be of more interest than the secrets of ancient lore the Scroll contained!

 _(Domination,_ she'd said. _Guilt.)_

Yet… there was a chance they were more urgent.

* * *

=S=

The quiet clink of plates and glass greeted her downstairs—a hushed, respectful mornfast—such a contrast to the Coronet! The large windows allowed sunlight in to warm the common room and all within it to a brighter hue, outlining her friends in a soft glow. But—another sat at their table.

"Sir Keldorn!" What was he doing here? Her hands flew to her hair to smooth it back—but he'd already seen her in such a state last night that stray hairs could hardly matter; it was just a flush of embarrassment that gripped her and held her tight, only growing warmer as the paladin took her in with solicitude.

He gave her a deep nod. "You are looking much better, milady; I am glad to see it. I confess I was worried about you."

Had they been talking about her—what had he told them? What had _they_ told _him?_

Surrounded by her companions and the light of day, the horror of the night before was distant, and only the memory of her broken self remained sharp. It cut her, heat (red) bleeding onto her cheeks.

"I'm well and recovered, sir, truly." As much as could be expected.

He did not believe her, 'twas clear on his face, that concern that went too deep for comfort—digging past politeness to chip at the truth—could a stranger actually care so much?

She shrugged, shrugged it off. "I've been through worse." And that was a truth.

As well as the wrong thing to say. "Surely you jest. Dear gods..." Disbelieving horror had room to grow in eyes that widened. "You are serious, aren't you?"

 _Silence._ Worse than mere embarrassment—everyone was trying not to look at her, meals suddenly much more interesting—but there was nowhere to escape, nowhere for her to disappear to, no witty repartee available, nothing to deflect a silence that sank in (with claws like needles down and down so deep).

Breathe, just breathe. Just breathe, but her breath hitched—

"Indeed, one would think they'd have some luck getting through that hard head of hers by now." The table full of eyes turned upon him as one; Edwin did not wilt at all beneath their glares. The only gaze he returned was her own. "Perhaps she is not so soft as she seems after all."

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Why couldn't she come up with anything in reply? Something cleverly biting—no less than he deserved, after how he'd treated her last night!—but he'd taken the attention off her, the pressure off her, and… that was something. Wasn't it? Just what expression did he wear? 'Twas too hard from here to see his eyes beneath his hood.

Something. She still needed to say something. "Is, um, is Anomen coming?" He'd said he would meet them when he could, but he might not think to check the Flagons. "It looks as if you're all gathering for another task."

Perhaps Edwin _had_ been smiling before, for 'twas quite clear he was no longer as he leaned back in his chair.

"I expect he will be meeting us shortly. 'Til then, sit down," Jaheira gestured, "have something to eat."

But the only open spots were at Edwin's table—where he sat alone—of course he'd no wish to sit any closer to the rest of them, nor they to him. And, her? If _that_ had been the closest he could come to anything like an apology, then, then…

She shifted her weight, half-stepping back. "I'm alright." He'd not apologize. And never in front of anyone. No point in standing here awkwardly, was there? "Let me know when you're ready to leave." She returned upstairs.

* * *

=E=

Oh, the two-faced tree-harpy trusted the paladin with an immediacy and thoroughness that defied all logic, solely based on his Order's 'honorable' reputation, no doubt! What of its reputation for hypocrisy and denial and dishonesty? But then, she was a bedamned _Harper,_ after all _;_ such deceits could only endear her further.

Well, let them play their games; he'd one of his own to play, and no time to waste. No, no need to be dragged along with whatever insipid task took them away today. (As if the paladin could be allowed a firsthand look at his castings! The old man would have to be watched carefully to determine weaknesses, and this was not the sort of reconnaissance which required Edwin also submit to observance.)

Sajantha would be surrounded by these intolerable imbeciles, but _he_ did not have to be, and there was no reason to remain here idle.

His gear secured, room locked and spelled, Edwin stepped out into the common area only to meet the heavy tread of footsteps upon the stair—naming an armored owner. A preemptive grimace rose to his face, even before the squire clunked into sight, where he paused to speak with the Kozakuran.

Oh, the _both_ of the holy halfwits would be going? Ugh. Just as well he'd other matters to attend to.

"Was that Sir Keldorn I saw downstairs?" Was it simply the ghost of a lingering headache, or did the squire's nasal voice always so grate upon the ears?

"Aye," said the rogue, "you know him?"

"Of course I do." The squire straightened, lifting his chin. With his soft face, scraggly excuse of a beard, and that ridiculous flop of hair, the boy must be on the fresh side of twenty—yet a novice!—still aching to prove to himself, without the means to do so. "He is a veteran paladin of the Order, a fine warrior. If somewhat arrogant and over-pious."

"Coming from you, those words sound like compliments! This Keldorn must be an _incredible_ knight." Yes, that was assuredly mockery tainting the rogue's tone.

The squire's lip curled. "You are too far beneath my notice to even acknowledge such a comment. Repeat it, however, and I shall react much differently."

"Oh-ho!" And here reared this 'honorable' bloke's true head. "Best not let Sajantha hear you speak thusly, lest you tarnish this sterling facade you strain to keep polished." Such a thin veneer, after all, she would soon see through it.

The idiot's attention turned at last to Edwin. "I am yet twice the man you are, you loathsome creature."

" 'Creature,' is it? Well, none shall accuse you of being creative. (Twice as _heavy_ , perhaps, the way he clanks about.)" Edwin sent him a sneer. "Continue to hide behind your shield of 'honor' if this reassures you of your validity. Fortunately, adventurers always require a front line for bludgeoning (and let us not forget for _being_ bludgeoned), so there may actually be a use for you." If not for long. If they required such assistance, the seasoned dwarf would serve far better.

"Best not forget how easily bludgeoned you are whilst cowering spinelessly in the back," came the squire's attempted rejoinder.

Edwin straightened his sleeves. "I am sure the rest of the party will enjoy basking in your 'brilliance,' if not so much as I will enjoy being away from it. Do have fun on your little outing; more pressing concerns call me."

"Absenting yourself?" Shoulders back: the squire's pathetic posturing required a physical manifestation. "Just as well. I heard 'twas on your watch that evil so befell Sajantha."

'Watch?' Were they a party of adventurers or nursemaids? "Do you take her for one of your useless simpering damsels?" She had spent enough of her life—far too much of it!—cloistered thus. "Continue treating her so and you will be part of the problem."

"The only problem is your lack of concern for her well-being."

Pointless, utterly pointless. "It is clear somewhere between your ears and your brain the capability to absorb wisdom is either absent or wholly defective; I've no further time to waste upon you. _Ti tenpiswo mi si."_

* * *

=S=

"Good morning," Anomen greeted Sajantha as she opened the door. He wasn't smiling; while soft, his face was far too somber. "I was told something of what happened last night—you are alright? It is gladdening to see you up after enduring such a thing. How are you feeling?"

How was she… how was she feeling? A thousand things jostled inside her, no way to name them. She looked down at the doorknob and twisted at it. _Stupid._ That was a feeling.

"To be at the mercy of such evil… that must have been terrible." His brow drawn up, he gave her a worried look. "I… I wish I had been here."

To keep her from trouble? Or to swoop in and rescue her? No, that wasn't fair to judge, when there was no feigning that concern upon his face. No games. She let out a breath. "It's so peaceful, talking to you." Impossible to even _imagine_ him calling her a lackwit or stupid or yelling at her about anything. A burning grew behind her nose, behind her eyes. "You're so nice."

"I…" His eyes widened, confused—perhaps even shocked?—as he shook his head. "I do not consider myself so. It is one of my failings, I fear. I have quite a temper."

A temper! " _You?"_ 'Twas her turn to shake her head. "No."

"Moira would call me a bit of a bear." He rubbed his neck. "Perhaps you have not seen it as much because… I find it rather peaceful talking to you, as well."

"Really? That's… that's nice, then." She tried to smile. "Isn't it?"

"Sajantha." From the stairs—Minsc and Keldorn behind her—Jaheira gestured. "You are ready?"

"We're—are we leaving?" Edwin… where was Edwin?

Yoshimo glanced at her, then at the stairs. "The wizard tells us he has business elsewhere."

Of course. Her hand dropped from the doorknob, strangely heavy as it came to rest at her side. Why wouldn't he? Perhaps he did, perhaps something more than his Scroll. Working on his translation and all this mysterious 'business,' why would he have any time free to spare for them at all? They'd not made a specific deal, so there was no way to twist his arm to the letter he'd agreed to.

 _Do_ _whatever_ _you want,_ she'd told him. _You will, anyway._

Her head pounded, hot, like another wave of tears waited. "I… I don't think I'd better go." She'd not even asked what the mission was for today, but it didn't even matter. "I think I need to lie down." Hide. 'Til she could get this under control. "If that's alright." _Please, please, please,_ for she couldn't hold her composure much longer.

"You went through quite an ordeal." Jaheira took a step back. "Without much chance to recover from the first one. Of course you must rest. Do you wish me to leave any potions with you?"

"I'm just going to try to sleep." Yes. Sleep. That would fix… it would have to fix something. _Maybe after you rest._

"Of… of course, my lady." Anomen looked disappointed. Or perhaps guilty. But why, when _she_ was the one who ought feel guilty—

"We will all feel better knowing you are resting." Keldorn's warm gaze enveloped her as snugly as an embrace. "Healing is a process that happens on its own time."

And the tears wouldn't stay back any longer; they hung in her eyes as her lips twisted in a smile that wouldn't have fooled even Edwin. Not that he would care. "Thank you."

* * *

=E=

Athkatla's Temple of Oghma would surely have the information required for this translation; none of the divination books so far had sufficed. Now that 'twas clearer what was needed, the correct tome should be simple to locate, and the Oghmites often managed to be helpful without being invasive.

The candlelit library made efficient use of its small space; floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, organized according to subject, with the monks available for any necessary cross-referencing, a service that would surely save time today.

The carpeting received Edwin's step with the same soft welcome that perpetuated the entire space, possibly the only quiet location in the city save his workshop. He let out a small sigh. The absence of beslubbering yokels was a boon within itself.

"This book was not sufficient for my purposes." He passed it to the monk on duty, an elderly man whose squint looked as permanent a fixture upon him as his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Hm hm hmm…" The monk adjusted his lenses, peering at the cover. "An elder language you were needing, yes? Do you have the document with you? I might—"

" _No."_ Any more specific, and they might have suspected… for what else but priceless knowledge had the creator races left to survive after them? If anyone should discover what he held… "Which section was this stored in? I will explore on mine own."

"Yes, as you wish, of course. Over here." The old man gestured to a shelf along the back wall, and stepped away. "Let us know if you should have any questions." He returned to curl up with the book he'd been immersed in.

Easy enough to ignore on the far side of the room, the Oghmite would not disturb him; Edwin scanned the shelves. Ah. Here was a possibility…

Raviwr fluttered beside him. "Master hated Mae'Var, yes?"

"I felt nothing for him but contempt." Edwin paged through one of the books. No. Back on the shelf. "He was a repulsive pretense for a human being who will not be missed." Another book.

"Does Master hate Sajantha?"

What was this? As if they did not share an empathic link. "Do not waste my time with such senseless questions." He shelved the book, withdrawing another.

"Master was nicer to Mae'Var."

What—? "Do not be ridiculous." He paused upon a page without looking at it. No. No, this could not be right. He had tolerated the man, if barely. What was so different about Sajantha? Her face came to mind, defiant and cool, hair still wet from her bath. Before she snapped the door shut on him. "Mae'Var was not determined to drive me unto madness with irrational behavior, testing my patience at every turn!" She could not be more disruptive if she _tried!_

"But Master stayed patient."

"I was… maintaining a cover."

"And what Master doing now?"

'Nice.' As if this were to be expected within a Red Wizard's repertoire! A staggering number of superior skills did he possess of infinite more use. The book slammed closed. "Who cares about such senseless things!"

The old man glanced up.

"She cares."

Edwin sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, re-shelving the book gently with the monk's eyes upon him. "We are not endeavoring to be subsumed into the collective mass of herd-brains she calls 'friends,' Raviwr."

"Friends!" he chirped. "Not _friends?_ Oh, how is Master fixing her magic if she not trust him?"

How? When her magic was buried somewhere beneath these scars Irenicus had left? Real—or invisible ones—all the harder to determine. And how might he find out? If she did not trust him. _Leave me alone,_ she'd said, tears in her eyes as she covered her chest, turning away from him.

The imp let out a gleeful chortle. "Raviwr is right; he is right! Oh-so-right! Master knows; he knows it! What would Master do without Raviwr?"

"I would have some peace and quiet, certainly," he muttered, exchanging another book on the shelf.

"You not know how to talk to her. But that okay; Raviwr help you."

"What could you possibly know about such things?"

The imp shrugged. "Raviwr watches. He listens."

Pfeh! As if the creature might know aught worth hearing. "I will never stoop to take direction from a lowly first-rank devil; I shall return you to the Hells if you dare again suggest it." Here— _here_ was one! Yes. _Yes._ This language, even a fragment… surely enough to go on, to establish a link…

"Oh-no, he trembles! Do not send him away; Raviwr wants to stay with cranky Master-man? He knows you will not set him loose, oh no!" He shuffled onto Edwin's shoulder. "Master not so cranky lately. Why-why-why? Raviwr knows; he knows!"

"Our plans are coming together." If so dreadfully segmented, still there was progress.

"Tin-man going to teach her swords."

A tension knotted up his back, making him shake the imp from his shoulder. "Good! The both of them may yet make themselves useful." Certainly she could use instruction, though what help that sweaty oaf could offer was negligible. "Why in the Hells is this amusing to you?" 'Twas as clear as if the imp were smirking. "Enough."

Two more. Two more books, to obscure his purposes; the monks would be unable to uncover aught from his selection. Not that the unparalleled rarity of a Nether Scroll might be the first conclusion upon someone's mind, but their ilk could weave much with a handful of facts strung together.

 _Bring it to Candlekeep, and they'd give you an honorary membership._

Even such as they might kill for such a wonder.

* * *

=S=

Late afternoon. They were still gone. No reason to worry, though, of course not. How would her presence have made a difference, if they _were_ in trouble?

And what would happen, if Jaheira should fall? If they lost the rudder to this ship, that unwavering direction, the last connection to her father? (Her family?) What if Minsc should fall, and they lost his boisterous enthusiasm, the wind in their sails? What if…

Edwin. He… he couldn't die. Surely. But… he could leave (again). He could… he…

She hugged the pillow closer, burying her head in the side of the common room's couch, because her room smelled sickly, like candles (and the skinner) and dirty clothes (and vomit). With no one else upon this floor, none had yet interrupted her fitful dozing. But—

 _Footsteps._ A red hood scaled the stairs and sharp-nailed fingers rose up the railing.

Sajantha sat up.

And 'twas clear the exact moment Edwin caught sight of her, for his hand froze a moment on the banister, steps paused as if he might return, retreat, but his eyes first rose to hers. To see whether she'd spotted him.

She looked away.

Silence hovered between them as he finished ascending the stairs, a pressure slowly ballooning as it stretched. "I… did not realize you were here."

"Don't mind me." Why would he start now? Indeed, he began moving as if to pass her. "I didn't realize it was such awful drudgery to be around me."

A frown crossed his face. "I am simply busy. Why must you take everything so personally?"

"This is just 'business' too, is it?"

"What would you have it be?"

And her heart skipped a beat. "I thought… I thought maybe we were friends." Only he might make sharing potions seem so significant. But of course it didn't mean aught to him, when the cost didn't matter to him, either. "But friends don't walk away when someone needs them. They don't… they don't _treat_ each other like that. I've known Anomen a few gods-damned days—Keldorn, I, I didn't know _at all—_ and they were both more concerned than you!"

"You made an ill-informed, emotionally-laden decision to dash alone into the night, and expect to be coddled for suffering the consequences of having no forethought?" The hard line of Edwin's jaw quivered as he clenched it. "Then demand me to be as the rest of them, pampering your delicate feelings? I will never—"

'Delicate!' "What do you know! As if you know _anything_ about my feelings. No matter what I say to you—gods. You're never going to understand, are you?" Never, _never,_ the word weighed so much, a weight like an anchor grounding her stomach that left even her limbs heavy.

Edwin crossed his arms. "This is difficult for you. Dealing with guilt, feeling helpless."

"Have you only now figured that out? Are there any other feelings you need spelled out for you?" Perhaps there were. Certainly he'd never felt guilty nor helpless; what else did he miss? "You know what else is difficult? Your yelling at me when I've nearly been—" Who even knew what they'd had planned? "—been killed?"

"I was not yelling. And they would not have killed you."

How could he sound so sure? "If Keldorn hadn't stopped them, they'd have sliced off all my skin!"

Edwin didn't blink. "And you would have allowed them to?"

" 'Allowed?' They had me _captive."_

"I once knew a girl who faced down a bandit camp—and a Red Wizard, besides—while she was held captive."

A surge rose inside her, catching in her throat. "She's gone." Sajantha looked away. "She's dead." Nothing left of her to speak of.

"I do not believe that is true."

"Sometimes our beliefs aren't what's true. You don't know. You can't."

Edwin's hand rose—as if he might touch her, even standing feet away—but merely pointed. "How is your head?"

"My—my head?" Her fingers glided over the wound, testing the sore edges of it. "It's fine. Nothing to waste a healing potion over."

A line furrowed his brow. "Still trying to clutch your coppers, I see. No matter: I have my own supply. Of a greater quality than those you are used to, I'm sure. Raviwr."

The imp flew down the hall.

"Here? You're staying with us now?" Even if the Flagons was a step up from the Coronet, it was surely a step down from wherever he'd chosen to lodge.

Edwin's steps took him ever-closer to the couch. Did he mean to sit beside her? "Things should proceed far more efficiently thus."

She straightened, drawing in her legs, and he took a seat, the couch-cushions pulling a bit with his weight. "You're giving up comfort for efficiency." Did he plan on joining them at the Coronet, then? Their one-night stay here had ended.

"There is much I would sacrifice if it would ensure quicker closure."

"Me, too."

"You worry over your friend. Do not." Edwin glanced back, down the hall. "This is a waste of time and energy, for it only makes you more ineffectual in actually accomplishing anything."

"It doesn't work like that." She touched his sleeve, and his attention fully turned towards her. "I don't know how it is for you, but… you can't just stop feeling something because you don't want to. Because it's inconvenient." ' _Delicate.'_ As if her feelings were so insubstantial as that!

"You are simply not trying hard enough."

That was how he handled things? Not that _that_ needed asking. "Maybe your feelings are leashed up so tight you can control them. Most people can't do that." Unless _his_ were the delicate ones. She tried to smile. "Is it so hard to believe that's one more thing you're so much better at than the rest of us?" All but when he got angry. But that wasn't worth pointing out.

He rubbed at his beard a moment, as if considering it. "This does not mean there is no solution available. If you feel weak, take steps to develop your strength: practice your bladework, if you'll not practice your spellwork." He shook his head. "You are reverting to the same learned helplessness that comes of relying upon the skills of others too long. But you do not need to—and you should not want to."

Had there even been a veiled insult in there? "Thanks for speaking to me like I'm a person, not a simpleton."

"Yes," he said. " 'Not a simpleton.' 'Do not treat you as a child.' As a 'piece on my game board.' A 'disobedient serf.' Anything else?"

"Don't treat me as an enemy."

He blinked. "I do not consider you an enemy."

Just what _did_ he consider her? "Then why do I always feel as if you're attacking me?"

" 'Always,' " he repeated.

"Alright. Not _always."_ Pieces of him came through, sometimes, before he could cover them up.

"Generalizations are always wrong, my dear." A slight curve to his lips.

A little spark grew in her, grew into a little smile. "That's a good one." She stared down at the potion Raviwr brought her. "So… if I said, you 'always' refuse to talk about your family, that would be a false generalization?"

And so quickly did his attention retreat from her: he looked towards the stairs before looking back. "They are not relevant."

"To what?"

"Nothing! They are relevant to nothing."

"Then how can it upset you so much?"

"I am not—!" He took a breath. "I am not upset. I simply find no use in discussing this, which frustrates me greatly. Why do you not let this go? Let us discuss something else."

"I'm just trying to understand you. Most people can talk about their parents without wrapping up so tight." Even Anomen—who had such anger for his father!—still felt better after getting it off his chest.

"Most people, you say?" He crossed his arms. "Very well. Shall we talk about _your_ parents? The elven mother who mysteriously died at your birth, conveniently leaving you without a single memory of her? Or do you suppose that is but another lie your father told you? Indeed, let us speak of your _father—"_

"Don't—" She caught her breath. "Stop it. Gods! Is that what you call 'not attacking me?' You think that's why I want to know things about you—like I'll do exactly what you're doing, try to hurt you with it? Don't you dare believe you know a _single_ thing about me if you think that's what I'd do." Was that truly what he thought of her? She shook her head. "I don't try to hurt people just to show I can."

Edwin took in a breath, tipping his chin up as he turned his head away.

"Go on. Say some other things you know will get to me. Prove how tough you are, how little you care about—about anything. Let's see: my father? Why don't you tell me about how it's my fault he's dead, my fault for leaving him lying there—running away without even burying him—and leaving the monks to find him." If the animals hadn't found him first. "Leaving the monks behind, too—all my friends—with doppelgangers taking over and bodies piling up beneath the keep." She'd run away and left them, too. "I can't ever go back home." Not that she deserved to, skipping out first on her trial and then later her sentencing, and how many of them could see her as aught but a criminal?

 _Home._ She couldn't even call it that. "Why don't you tell me about how Minsc can't ever go home either, because his charge chose to follow _me_ and died for it, how he failed her and his mission and his country, because of me." Her hands clenched in her lap. "Tell me about how I can't even look at Jaheira without seeing Khalid missing—how I can't even _think_ of Khalid without seeing the… the aftermath—tell me how it's _my_ fault he's not beside her, _my_ fault he's dead." Her voice strained, hoarse. "Tell me—" ( _how I can't even look at myself)_

"Sajantha—"

Faster, now, her words flew through clenched teeth. "Tell me how it's _my_ fault Imoen was taken, _my_ fault we're not moving fast enough," her fingers dug into her skirts, clawing into her knees, "my fault everything, _everything_ —"

"Sajantha!" His hands closed over her wrists.

"I can keep going." Could she stop? She looked up. "How much ammunition do you need?"

Caught in his own hold, her hands loosened their white-knuckled grip; Edwin let go, sitting back.

"I understand why you might be scared. But you're being really damned stupid if you're scared of me."

He shifted, something like a frown on his face. "I am not scared."

"Then _tell me something,"_ she whispered. "Tell me of your mother's long dark hair and how it spilled across her shoulders like a waterfall. Tell me of your father's rich laugh, the one that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him and made you want to laugh, too."

"Mulani do not grow out their hair."

"Do they not laugh, either?"

Looking at him, one could almost believe so: Edwin faced forward, a stern profile, brow drawn low. "My… father did not."

"Did your mother?"

He stared at some spot in the distance, forehead furrowed, jaw moving, like he was trying to chew through a rock. "Yes," he finally said.

Sajantha leaned against his arm, lowering her voice: "Then I know the truth. Exactly what you're hiding..."

He went still.

"…under your hood. Or should I say what you're _not_ hiding?" This smile came easier. " 'Mulani don't grow hair,' hm?"

Her sudden spark of humor surprised them both; his shoulders had relaxed, the tension smoothing from him as he shook his head. "You… are a very strange person."

Could he tell how very much her fingers itched to draw down his hood? She straightened her skirts, then folded her hands into her lap. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

He shrugged, as if in allowance. "It was not an insult."

"That took a lot out of you, didn't it?"

"I have not thought of them in some time."

"They're not all bad memories."

His fingers traveled over his mouth, his chin. "No."

"It's okay to think about them sometimes." Was it, for her? Could she ever think of her father, of Khalid (of Imoen), without these sick knots grinding in her stomach? The good memories could hurt just as much, thinking about all they'd lost.

Edwin's head turned back and forth, scanning the room as he sat up, hands on his knees, and leaned forward. "This is done. I am done." He stood, then paused a few steps from her. "We were supposed to talk about you."

"But you already know everything about me." And sometimes he actually remembered to put it to use.

"Not so much as I would like."

Heat tickled at her neck. "Oh?"

"Irenicus." His voice was flat, flat as his stare. "We need to discuss him."

She looked away. "He's not—that's not me."

"Tonight."

How had he managed to turn something she could look forward to into something loaded with so very much dread? Her voice came out small, kept shrinking, "I don't want to to talk about him."

"You wished a trade, did you not? If I have no especial desire to share mine own past, it seems only fair, yes?"

If he had only managed a smile before he walked away, the barest softest whisper of one, it might have stemmed the tide of despondency that dragged her down, that left her arms wrapped around her legs and her face buried behind them: a wall that could keep nothing out, a wall that could keep nothing in.

* * *

 **[Author's Note(s)]:** _I'm working on the next portrait pack update with some mod NPCs, and please head to my DeviantArt page if you have any feedback/ideas with the new batch—thank you! :D_

* * *

 _Some of you may have noticed I've tagged this story as 'on hiatus.' This is normally where I would blah blah blah an explanation as there are a lot of factors regarding that I could cover. But I suppose to sum it up, I'm going to be treating this story like a hobby instead of how I used to, which was taking it as seriously (and spending as much time on it) as if it was a full-time job. So there could potentially be a decline in quality/thoroughness—and obviously timeliness o_O—since I am lowering it from 'obsessive' status. xD I do have a ton of it written already so hopefully that will help (I can proooobably do decently on updates until I hit a big blank spot), but I'm not going to try to adhere to any schedule for it; I've got a lot of other responsibilities now I need to focus on. (Bleh being an adult! :P)_

 _But thank you thank you thank you everyone supporting me with faves and reviews and everything; it definitely helps give me some fuel and motivation! :D And it's encouraged me to try my hand at writing original fantasy, which is another reason for my shift of focus, though I'm still on the world-building brainstorming stage… I'm sure I'll have updates with anything developing there on my DeviantArt page if anyone is interested. :)_


	18. Confessions I

=S=

Unlike Edwin—with little more than a whisper of fabric to announce his arrival—the party had nothing to hide, returning from their day's work with a clatter as they scaled the stairs in all their boots and armor.

Not least of them Minsc, who thundered up with volume and weight enough one might mistake him for an earthquake from the way the walls rattled. He stopped before the couch, giving Sajantha a sad shake of his head. "I did not get to talk to you, after the nasty necromancers."

"Why?" She straightened. "What did you want to say?"

And suddenly she was no longer sitting but pressed against his armor, enveloped in his hug and the smell of sweat and leather, secure inside the warmth of his heavy arms. "Butts needed to be kicked, and I was not there."

"It's…" Sajantha swallowed. "It's alright. I'm alright." But she hugged him back a long moment before he let her go, and her toe-tips again found the ground. "I hope things went well today?"

He clapped her shoulder before stepping back. "They would have been better with you at our side, but we made do!" He was only being nice—for what help would she have been?—yet the ranger's beaming grin was as strong and sincere as the rest of him, and she couldn't help but feel a bit lighter.

The rest of the group—far more quietly—spread out through the sitting room. But… not all of them. She scanned for Anomen's face. And where was Jaheira? But neither Yoshimo nor Keldorn looked wary or worried, as if aught had gone wrong; in fact, they looked almost… happy.

Keldorn was the only one close to Minsc's height—a bit taller than even Edwin—and even still barely reached the ranger's chin; his eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave the large man a grin. "Your friend here fights well and true! His righteous fury is a sight to see."

"And a warrior of Keldorn's ability would be well-respected in Rashemen. Do you know how many words of wisdom he had for me that Boo agreed with? It made Boo even warmer and fuzzier! Minsc is honored to fight at your side, friend."

"You're all getting along so well!" The group trading praise, not insults? The sound was reassuringly soft on her ears.

"Of course!" Minsc gave his pauldron—Boo—a pat. "Heroes recognize heroes."

"Ah, but I have heard no compliments thrown towards Boo's strategy," Yoshimo pointed out. "What a fabulous job he did in battle, no? Going for the eyes, as fast as any miniature giant space hamster I've ever seen."

"Oh, Yoshimo!" Minsc turned to him. "Your aid will not be forgotten; all the heroes will have their songs! Boo says that you did well, too. For someone who isn't Minsc."

"That is as much as I could aspire to." Hand on heart, Yoshimo gave a bow towards Minsc. Or perhaps Boo.

"Can you sing of our bravery?" Minsc's attention had again fallen upon Sajantha, and the sudden seriousness on his face caused the warmth in her chest to falter. "Oh, that our bard was not there to set the words into song!"

"Your bard hasn't any music sheets or ink." A harp, though. Anomen had given her that harp. Where was he? He must have returned to the Order. She picked at the edges of her pillow.

"I do not think this was a quest worthy of such song." Keldorn let out a sigh. "I had hoped to find another lead, for there are far worse things being smuggled in this city."

"Smugglers?" That's what they'd done with the day?

"Gem smugglers, aye." Jaheira entered the sitting room and set down her pack on an empty chair, appearing almost tired enough to join it.

"And look! Yoshimo even found some gems that were extra, that the officials did not need!"

"Minsc, friend," Yoshimo held his palms out beseechingly, "do not say such things! Of course you saw nothing of the sort; I turned over all I found to the authorities, didn't I?"

"Where is Edwin?" Jaheira cut through the conversation with her sharp gaze. "Has he returned?"

Sajantha's head tipped forward in a nod, strangely heavy. "Aye, he's in his room. I wouldn't disturb him were I you; he's busy studying." Busy, busy, always so busy.

The druid grunted. "Well. 'Tis time to return to the Coronet. He is certainly welcome to stay here if he wishes."

Giving up comfort for efficiency. Would he truly go with them? _Tonight_ , he'd said—so he would find her. A flutter stirred inside her, wings where they didn't belong, caught between her chest and her stomach.

"Just what is your party doing in the company of a Red Wizard?" Keldorn looked between them, but the way he focused on Sajantha said 'twas only her answer he was after. Because he already would have asked the others, wouldn't he? For Edwin hadn't at all attempted to leave anything like a tolerable impression upon him. Too much to expect, really. But why? Why couldn't he ever just _try?_

"This gravely concerns me," Keldorn continued.

A door opened.

Sajantha held her breath.

Edwin glanced around the room. "You all linger about because the setting that awaits you is one you look forward to as eagerly as I, hm? The innkeep will rescind his invitation in minutes, must you make him do so physically? (And they think _I_ have no manners.)"

"I'll go get my pack." Not that she had so many things. Sajantha ducked back into her room, out of the uncomfortable tension of the sitting room, out of range of any questions.

* * *

After leaving Samuel and his cheery inn behind, the sunset walk back to the Coronet had a dismal enough air, and Keldorn's clear disapproval of Edwin only made it worse. Though Edwin—unsurprisingly!—did not appear at all to be bothered by the older man's sidelong scrutiny.

Edwin tipped his head towards her, and spoke in a tone that—suspiciously!—suggested light conversation, though his words were anything but: "Torm was among those who slaughtered Bhaal when the gods walked the earth. Hunted him down like Cyric and Bane." _Torm._ That's right, Keldorn's patron deity, wasn't he? No other reason for Edwin to say such a thing.

Indeed, Keldorn frowned. "Such evils should not remain free. He had the right of it, for they were conspiring against all that is good in the world."

Jaheira gave him a speculative look. "Neither should ever become so out of check as to disrupt the balance."

This would surely escalate. Sajantha raised her voice a bit: "We all of us believe as we will, and there are gods enough to accommodate every point of view. Torm died for it, as well." The only god to fall in the Godswar whom Ao resurrected, for he at least had died in accordance with his portfolio: duty, loyalty, protection.

"I am curious which god you follow, Sajantha." Keldorn looked over at her. "I confess I do not know what to make of you. You seem so quiet, but as if you contain a storm within you, and it takes all you have to hold it in check."

He… what did he see?

Images flashed through her eyes, a searing blaze of red, and her skin tingled as if tracing the path of the lightning strike past her elbow. Her breath gasped in, expecting a scorching dryness down her throat.

A… a storm. She rubbed at her arm 'til the sensation dissipated. A storm of what? "Back there, with the necromancers, did you… feel anything? The magic." He'd sent a dispel to rid it, after all.

"A cloud of evil enshrouded the entire place; it stained every corner. I felt only darkness."

 _Darkness._ And what had there been, but that? Each time she tried to think back on it, it oozed out to fill her mind: a haze, a chill of black… "This storm in me, is it…" She swallowed. "Do you—do you think it's evil?"

His eyebrows rose in startlement. "Evil? Nay, I would not think it. But all is not well with you. Is there aught you wish to speak of?"

Did she _wish_ to speak of it? Gods! How long had it taken for Edwin to drag any such words from her? And here stood Keldorn, with his eyes promising some understanding and absolution she had no right to and he'd no right to offer—

She gave her head a sharp shake.

"Know that I will be here if you do." His open expression hadn't changed, even as he resumed their walk.

The others hadn't paused in their progress and no longer walked close enough to overhear. Allowing them space on purpose? They wanted… what did they want her to say? Sajantha licked her lips, then started after the paladin. What did _she_ want to say?

 _Which god do you follow?_ How long since she'd even thought his name?

"K-Keldorn."

He turned.

"You say Torm hasn't gifted you healing spells." A stillness pulsed inside her somewhere deep, deep enough that only the tendrils of the question reached far enough out. "But… if all you had left was your voice, and you cried out to your god," (if you screamed if you begged), "if you prayed with all that was left inside you, would he not answer?"

"If I had none of my own strength left, could I call upon his grace?" Keldorn pursed his lips. "I would never presume it. Though I should like to think he would hear me."

"I thought so once, too," she whispered.

The question had been all that kept her company in the darkness of the dungeon: _Why?_ she'd asked Oghma, The Lord of Knowledge, the Binder of What is Known. _Why why why._

And he'd left her (everyone had left her) in that cell, in an empty vacuum of silence ('til the metal hinges creaked open).

Again. Again. Again.

* * *

"Ye didn't check out of 'em. So the rooms are still yours; ye paid for the full ride. No refunds." The innkeeper's narrow pinched face couldn't convey sympathy if he tried, and trying appeared well beyond his intentions.

"Sorry, Jaheira," his assistant spoke in a soft rumble. He raised a meaty hand to the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.

She gave a heavy shrug. "It is what it is."

"You know him?"

Jaheira turned back to the stairs. "Bernard was a… contact, some years ago."

Harper business, then. Not the kind that would now come to light, for this wasn't the place to speak of such things; Harpers had a lot of enemies. A red-cloaked figure swept past them, up the stairs. Red Wizards not the least of them.

Well. They still had their rooms. May as well move on, then. Sajantha trundled up the staircase, pack heavy. Passing the bench in the hall, her muscles tensed as if in preparation, though it was empty.

Edwin… he was staying here, now. With them. Why should _that_ make her nervous? No, it was just the thought of the discussion he'd promised. ' _Tonight.'_ Where? Not—not her room! Wait for him at the hall bench. But how long would he be? 'Twas well after eveningfeast.

"It has been a long day." Yoshimo's voice emerged from somewhere up ahead. "Come, Miss Jaheira! You must ease your weary feet, yes? How else will you manage to stomp down the next wave of thugs who will surely plague us tomorrow? You must join me for a drink." He looked up to see Sajantha as she turned the corner. "Sajantha, ah! Please join Jaheira and I."

Jaheira shook her head, hand on the doorknob to her room. "I agreed to nothing."

"Sajantha!" Yoshimo hadn't given up. "Please convince our friend to join us; I will not be able to enjoy myself knowing she is up here submerged in the gloom of her quarters."

And just how to do that? "The… the corner booth is free. The one with the window?" She gestured past the stairs. "It's quite a view of the trash bins outside."

"You see?" Yoshimo seized upon it: "The glow of candlelight upon the glass! A lovely fragrant breeze! A view of the collective noble patrons, sure to delight all the senses!"

"I… I make no promises to enjoy myself." But Jaheira's frown was a tiny bit uncertain.

"Ooh!" Even out of his armor, Minsc took up far too much of the hall as he stepped out of his room. "Then Boo and I shall save these best of seats! Watch out, hamster and ranger _coming through!"_ His exiting footsteps hammered like applause.

"If he does not break the stairs on the way down, our plans are secure." Yoshimo grinned.

Indeed. Surely no one would risk tangling with the giant berserker, no matter how rough this crowd.

They stowed their packs in their rooms, returning downstairs to the booth Minsc had reserved—or taken over—for them, and found a round of ales awaiting them.

"You can have mine," Sajantha told Minsc as she slipped in beside him. "I think you're far better equipped at holding alcohol than I." And her stomach felt far too restless to try.

"Aye, Minsc could drink all of these and still keep hold of his senses! Dynaheir always says…" His voice lost force. "She…"

" _Boo_ surely has some thoughts on drinking, no?" Yoshimo prompted him. "Some saying to enlighten us with his wisdom. 'One mug is alright, two is too many, three is not enough?' "

" 'Good people drink good beer.' " Jaheira's voice was dry, but her lips wet with ale and the lilt to her mouth could have grown to a beautiful smile, did she not so quickly lose it, all expression falling from her face. Khalid, surely some memory with Khalid had called to her.

Beneath the table, Sajantha wrung her hands together, nail-tips digging into her skin.

"Nothing for you?" Yoshimo's gaze sought hers when she looked up, his dark eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"I'm not really in the mood. Alcohol… it doesn't agree with my stomach so very well." Her stomach didn't need any help at jumping about, at any rate.

A rustling, then Yoshimo reached out with a small package. " _Ichigo Daifuku._ " He gave her a wink, pushing it forward.

Oh! Another Kozakuran treat…? It took her but a moment to unwrap it: four rounded piles of—dough?—sat snugly together in the box.

"Rice cakes," he explained as he passed them out.

Sajantha's eyes widened as the sharply-sweet taste bloomed over her tongue. "Strawberry!" There was a whole strawberry inside! She must have looked quite surprised, for the rogue let out a little laugh, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to catch her own. "It's delicious—thank you."

"Minsc almost hates to ask, but—do you have one for Boo?" The ranger's gaze lingered on the remaining cake.

With a chuckle, Yoshimo raised his hands, gesturing the last cake away. "The hamster must be pleased first, of course! I have my ale." And he took another drink of it.

Minsc had already finished his—plus half of Sajantha's—and Jaheira was well on her way through her own.

Powdered rice-dust coated the druid's fingers before she brushed them off, clearing her throat. "Keldorn seems a kind man."

Where had that come from? But Jaheira had lost her far-off sad-eyes—and not even traded it in for that familiar hawk-eyed stare. Might she be enjoying herself after all? "Aye." Sajantha bobbed her head. "I suppose as it comes with the job description."

Jaheira snorted. "Paladins can be many things: 'dedicated,' certainly. Focused. But 'kind?' Not always so much." In the tales, though, they were always kind, if sometimes stern. Not that _tales_ meant anything. "You have not met many paladins, have you?"

"Not so many, no." There had been the one her own age on the Trade Way, who had challenged Edwin to a duel… 'Kind' was certainly not the first word to come to mind, not that they'd much a chance to get to know him. And certain people certainly brought out certain sides of you. "Some visited Candlekeep, though."

"Hm." Jaheira finished a sip. "The types of paladins inclined to visit Candlekeep are their own breed, I should think."

Perhaps. But Keldorn would be quite welcomed there, and surely he would enjoy it there as well. Parda and he would surely get on!

Not… not that there was any point in bringing it up, as if she could invite him along (as if she could ever go back). Gods! What was wrong with her? Everything just seemed so…

The negative adjectives clamored about her head, each screaming to be heard.

 _Difficult._ 'Difficult' was the loudest; it encompassed the rest.

Sajantha rubbed at her forehead. Even Jaheira had managed to lighten up a bit, and with naught but foam left in her mug, the Harper had a healthy gleam in her eye.

"Boo says there are good seeds and bad seeds in paladins, like apples?" But Minsc squinted, as if he might have gotten the translation wrong.

"From which tree do you think our young squire falls?" Yoshimo glanced between them.

"What do you mean?" Sajantha lifted her head to follow their gazes. "Don't you like him?" He'd not sent any signals otherwise, but then… Yoshimo smiled at everyone, didn't he? He didn't even let Edwin get to him.

"Ah, I meant nothing by it; I apologize."

Where had Anomen gone to, anyway? He wasn't a veteran of the Order, not like Keldorn, so he wasn't free to do as he liked on his own; she was lucky he found time for them at all. And he _had_ had time—earlier in the day. Back when she hadn't, hiding in her room instead. Her own fault. Something choked in her throat.

 _Edwin's_ fault.

"I… I think I'm going upstairs. I can't really focus right now." They would have fun without her, could keep the conversation lighter; Yoshimo was good at that. She gave him a weak smile in apology, though he'd surely understand.

* * *

Her thoughts weren't working right. At least not about anything they ought be dwelling on. _Irenicus,_ Edwin wanted to talk about _Irenicus,_ but this flutter inside her felt far different. Just… just focus on something, anything, to keep occupied 'til then.

Her gaze flew around her room, though there wasn't so much within it, but—ah! In her pack, from earlier, the goods gained from that mage's sewer lair: the book Edwin had found, and the harp Anomen had gifted her; she froze with her hand inside the bag.

It was just a simple instrument, so why did her hand tremble instead of touching it? She gingerly reached past it for the book instead, at last reading the cover. A guide to Amn—by Volo, no less!—but useful for her, Edwin had called it; she ought to read it then. And perhaps 'twould put him in a fairer mood to see her taking his advice; she returned to the hall with it tucked under her arm.

And now to wait. The book lay open in her lap, though every passing person made her look up—gods!—'twas not as if _everyone_ was going to try to kill her, even if two here had tried in the last tenday.

' _Amn is a class-based society wherein those with the most money are accorded the best treatment. Wealth proves to society that a person deserves better treatment solely on the merit of having such riches.'_

Ugh! How could so many nobles think themselves actually _better,_ for something so beyond their control as the circumstances of their birth? Birth didn't mean… it didn't mean…

" _Thirku tonn seltur thirku grovisv ofiln."_

The seat beneath her surged—Sajantha's gaze snapped up and she gripped the armrest—the expanded, softer armrest. "Wh-what!"

Edwin lowered his hand. "I thought it prudent to prepare a few choice transmutation spells if I must be relegated to such a place."

The back of the bench had softened enough to embrace her with its newly-spelled cushioning. "You couldn't have asked me to stand first?" Her jumping insides hadn't quieted even with the magic complete. She swallowed.

"It would not affect the transformation." He settled onto the bench— _couch_ —at her side, glancing at the guidebook as she smoothed its pages. "Ah. You are learning something, yes?"

More than she'd really wanted to know. "About the clothing, and things… you were right."

"Hn." It didn't appear to much appease him. "You believed me not, yet you trust Volo's word?"

"I didn't want to believe you; it just meant more expenses. But I'd trust you over Volo in a minute. I'm sorry." She stared at the book, then set it closed on the other side of her. "You were right… about so many things."

"And you are at last wise enough to hear it?"

 _You are wiser today than you were a season ago,_ Khalid had said.

The bench's new cushions had almost swallowed her as he sat beside her—far more plush than they needed to be—she pulled herself back up, before his gravity tugged her too close.

"We need to talk about Irenicus. Refusing to only gives him more power over you. Do you understand this?"

Back straight, her arms held her steady at the edge of the seat. "Yes." She barely made the word out into a whisper. Even just the thought… Her fingers curled into the cushion. "Tell me something about yourself first. Please. It doesn't have to be a secret."

"If they are things I do not speak of—if they are things no other asks of me—would it not all be secret?"

"The past is that hard for you to talk about, too?"

He glanced down, smoothing his robes over his knee, though the short cut of the red cloth still left a stretch of black trousers visible before they disappeared into his boots.

Her gaze jumped back to his face, but he didn't appear to have noticed her staring at his legs. Not that she was _staring,_ exactly, but—

"What do you wish to know?" And his expression stayed smooth, smooth as those robes, without a trace of the line that had worried his brow earlier today, when she'd prised such a small truth from him, one held so tight she might as well have been pulling a tooth. It _was_ all secrets to him, wasn't it.

"You." She leaned forward, hand under her chin. How to narrow it down? "You were about my age when you became a Red Wizard… So," he'd always dodged it before, "how long ago was that?"

One side of his mouth rose. "Long enough to learn not to question my elders."

"Mm. The model of obedience, were you? Why do I find that so hard to believe?"

"You with your difficulty believing truths." His lips flattened out as he looked away. "There is truth in it; the instructors may be questioned—but not challenged—and distinguishing the two is of course at their discretion. It is a… turbulent relationship, master and apprentice. 'Tis not uncommon for students to return to kill their former instructors."

"I don't suppose there were any you looked up to then, any teachers you liked."

A pause passed—a trifle too long—something there, something hidden. Edwin shifted. "Not as such. Though there were those whom I respected. But one does not 'like' those who initiate them unto life's painful truths. Any more than you like Irenicus, I imagine."

Not yet. Not already. Sajantha squeezed her eyes shut. "It couldn't have been so bad as that."

"One of us will have to tell the other in order to compare."

A sick taste spilled in her mouth, dry and sour. "And I have to go to first?" The light flutters in her chest turned to a churning. "I don't—I don't remember."

"We speak of what you do remember." The cushions shifted as he shifted towards her. "Irenicus. What do you recall of him?"

Her seat had sank, left her too close to him; she straightened, her limbs so heavy they longed to pull her back into the divot between them.

No lightness to Edwin now, either. "He wanted something of you. What?"

What had he wanted? And what did he now want of Imoen? "He hurt me. All he wanted was to hurt me."

" _Think."_ He faced her fully, leaning forward. "Why would he do this, what would this accomplish? Was he attempting to break you?" 'Attempting, ' ha! Had he not succeeded? Edwin frowned. "Did he not speak?"

As if that voice driven like nails into her skull might ever be forgotten. " 'Do you see?' " _Do you see?_ Insistent. Demanding. It sounded so soft and harmless from her mouth, with none of the sharp enunciation that his tongue would slice.

"He wanted you to learn something." Edwin's own voice was measured, calm. "To see: to discover, to understand. He was teaching you. What?"

"Pain." Her voice cracked. "What does pain teach you?"

"Fear," he answered. "Hate."

Her hand cupped her chin, covering her mouth.

"He provoked you, then. Wanted you to snap. _Why?_ "

She had snapped the wrong way. Useless to everyone. But what use might he have found for her? ( _Godchild.)_

What did he want? He wanted _her,_ didn't he? The thinnest of hopes to cling to: that he had Imoen, but he wanted her. And so long as he kept her friend as bait, he wouldn't hurt her. Not Imoen.

(But he had. He had. Imoen's dull eyes stared at her, too empty to be accusing. _Why?)_

"You know all about monsters." She lifted her gaze to Edwin. "How would you go about making one?"

"We speak not of monsters. You must first confront the truth if you are ever to stomach confronting the man."

"Man? No. He's a monster—he _is—_ there's nothing human about him." His face—mask?—was just a mockery of one, with nothing to enliven it.

"Yes, you insisted this of Sarevok as well. But 'twas a man you slew beneath Baldur's Gate. Not a monster."

"You _left._ You weren't even there; what do you know?" One more thing he'd been right about, though. He didn't need to know that, that she had used his advice to stop the man when she could not slay the monster.

"I would know what Irenicus said to you, what he did. So that we may come to understand our foe. Would you have me walk blindly beside you?"

Beside her. So, so tempting. To tell him all she knew. To hold up all these broken pieces and examine the edges, the cracks, that he might remind her how they fit together.

Edwin's eyes were dark pools—how much more welcome, a death by drowning?—so much darker was the prison she looked back upon, even his brown eyes seemed bright.

(He would leave he would run) Reaching into her insides, they'd be left on display (like Khalid's smeared across the walls) no turning back—no putting them back—gone, gone (he was gone), too late. _You will come too late._ Far, far too late.

"People died." The hand over her mouth caught the words, but not before they escaped her. "His lessons. To… show me things."

"Such a good student, once. So eager to please. These people that died," Edwin's shoulders sank as he lowered to her eye level, "was he the one who killed them?"

She could not look at him. Could not raise her eyes past her own shaking fingers picking at her sleeves, could not raise her voice above a whisper, "It wasn't me." Her head ducked to her chin. "That wasn't me."

She took in a deep breath. Another. Her fingers dug into the couch—not deep enough to anchor her. _Do you see?_ She closed her eyes. Did he?

Silence built a wall between them. She couldn't look up. If he had left, if he would leave… She couldn't look. This silence might smother a thousand things; how could she bear it? The words blurted free: "Are you going to leave?"

"Are you?" Edwin hadn't moved; he stared at her with a hand supporting his chin. "He was clearly trying to access your power."

"Power." Not enough force to propel her laugh free, it fell limply from her lips. " _What_ power."

He stood. "The power you will need to defeat him. You have it still."

A weight rested on her shoulder, taking too long to identify, but he'd reached out towards her (red)—

 _Don't look—_

"It's yours. Only if you claim it first."

She shook her head as fast as her feet tripped backward—away from the bench—away from him. "I can't. I can't be a Bhaalspawn; I'm not." _not me no that wasn't me oh no no no_

"What you are is a stubborn-minded lackwit with all the sense of a monkey!" Sharp nails dug points into her skin—halting her retreat—his fingers folded around her shoulders. "Open your eyes, Sajantha! Can you truly not see it?"

What she had seen—she had seen it all—bloody holes in faces torn open screaming, red to the wrists of hands that did not yet shake. Empty eyes—dead, still staring—blue eyes cold, voice colder: _Do you see?_

" _I don't want to!"_ She shoved, twisting away, and the pain left her—the talons no longer digging into her shoulders—the red left her vision; Edwin stepped back.

She took in heaving breaths. However stiffly she held herself, still she trembled.

Edwin's eyes were narrowed. And dark, oh-so-dark. "Then let him win."

* * *

[ **Author's Note:]** _I was, alas, uninspired when it came to creating quotes about drinking, so I had to look some up:  
"Good people drink good beer." ―Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas  
"One martini is alright, two is too many, three is not enough." ―James Thurber_

* * *

 _Thank you thank youuuu guys for commenting! Hearing your thoughts is basically my entire motivation to continue this instead of allowing it to gather dust in a state of semi-finishedness forever annnnnd you knowwww it just means a whole lot to me. :)_


	19. Confessions II

=S=

After a half-day of practicing and a marvelously hot bath, exhaustion oozed out from Sajantha's muscles to seep into her very bones and left all her limbs watery; she nearly collapsed upon the couch, its plush cushions welcoming her with an embrace too soft to escape from.

Anomen had dropped her off at the Coronet an hour before, though he'd left reluctantly, and not before remarking how ill-suited such a place was for her. At the same time as such concern felt condescending, it was difficult to disagree. Yet where would she feel more comfortable, exactly? The Flagons had been fun, but 'twas a place of laughter and bright cheer, and that was even less appropriate while Imoen suffered; Sajantha belonged nowhere else.

With the seat all to herself, she had plenty of room to spread out, or even lie down—'twas infinitely more comfortable than her lumpy thin mattress!—yet the thought of doing so threatened to tighten her loose muscles with… tension? Was the thought of letting her guard down alone in public so frightening?

Perhaps Edwin was getting to her.

She'd barely had time to soak up much relaxation before Minsc and Yoshimo entered the hallway, but she managed to haul herself back to her feet to greet them. "You're back! How did everything go?"

With his usual enthusiasm, Minsc explained their day, telling of local highwaymen who preyed upon merchants departing the Promenade. With their coffers full after selling goods, they made for tempting targets. "The trader hired us to protect him, but heroes do more than this; heroes must protect everyone! So Minsc agreed, only to stop them once and for all."

"We hid in a wagon to draw them out," the ranger continued with a grin, "then the full wrath of Minsc-and-Boo justice fell upon them!" Some wild delight lit his face, a reminder of his unleashed berserker fury, and imagining the aftermath almost made her wince.

Yoshimo must have noticed her expression. "A few survivors," he offered. "Now languishing in the jail awaiting judgment." Then, with a dexterity reminiscent of his martial skills, he smoothly redirected the conversation and asked her of her own day.

"Footwork?" He grinned with mock indignation once she'd explained. "But this is my very own area of expertise! Have you not heard I can dance on the head of a pin?"

Sajantha had to smile. "I hope you are _offering_ such impressive skills and not merely flaunting them."

"Bragging is the boon of the mighty and heroic!" Minsc cut in. "All must know of our strengths so that evil fears to raise its most ugly head!"

"If evil is hiding from you," Yoshimo raised his eyebrows, "how will you know to vanquish it?"

"Evil is always outed." Certainty filled Minsc's reply, one he'd tolerate no rebuttal to. Unless it came from his hamster, surely.

Yoshimo turned back to her. "Are you finding the warrior-cleric to be an adequate instructor? For you need only say the word…"

"I'm sure there's so much I can learn from you both! If you're up for it, of course. The least I can do for repayment is offerings of admiration and allowing you the chance to show off your abilities." And—oh!—the peaches! She'd have to grab them from her room.

He gave a chuckle. "No, this Yoshimo is of course too humble to ever suggest such a thing! Was that how you ensnared the knightling?"

 _'Ensnared!'_ A frown pulled at her mouth. Surely that was far too brash a word! "He needs someone to believe in him, that's all. I don't think people take him so seriously as he wishes." All because of his father, feeling like he had so much to prove. "But it's not as if I have to pretend! He's quite knowledgeable—I've learned a lot already—and skilled, as well; he moves so quickly!"

Yoshimo's inscrutable face left little clue as to his thoughts. "Is that so?"

"Aye! You couldn't have seen him without his armor before, though," such a thing couldn't help but weigh down his movements, "but truly."

"I see." And then a smile quirked at his lips. "Perhaps it is the knightling who has _you_ ensnared, eh?"

"Yoshimo!" She tried to hold in a laugh and gave his arm a half-smack, half-shove. "You'd best not suggest such a thing around him; he's dreadfully easy to tease. We picked up socks and talked about family _—_ I remind him of his _sister_ —and I managed to commit several slips of etiquette, all _before_ getting ripe and sweaty out in the sun." Just as well she'd acquiesced to their suggestions of soap.

"I planned it to the last lovely detail, you see. If anyone's ensnaring anyone, it shan't involve me." More than a few embarrassing moments on both their sides! Though she always seemed to come out ahead. Yet Anomen never seemed to hold it against her. Of course he'd treat her so kindly, though, endeavoring to be a knight of worth with a sister who'd further fostered his desire to be a protector.

"Ah. Who can be so certain of their future? _Ashita no koto o iu to tenjou no nezumi ga warau."_ Yoshimo gave a wink. " 'If you speak of tomorrow, the rats in the ceiling will laugh.' "

"I…" And just like that, the light flashed out inside her as the spark of humor that lighted her went cold. "I know enough of my future to know what's not in it." What did he think? That she might magically be whisked away from all this by a handsome knight and live happily ever after? As if her heart had crawled into her throat, it became difficult to swallow.

Anomen… he hadn't been mistaken about her, not really; she wasn't cut out for this—wasn't _anything_ —not some princess in a story, nor the hero of it. Heroes battled with their enemies, not with the urge to quit; they didn't want to run back home so much it hurt. They didn't cry themselves to sleep at night.

She gave her head a shake. "Life's not a fancy-tale."

"Sajantha…" But her name hung in the air, for there was nothing Yoshimo could really say, was there, nothing anyone could do.

She kept shaking her head 'til she'd forced down the lump in her throat. "Anyway. What I need to worry about is…" Not being left behind again. Proving herself. (Not waiting helpless in the dark.)

Goosebumps prickled along her arms, a chill reminder of the creeping magic at the skinners, but she shook it off. "Building up my strength." Physically _—_ not magically _—_ no need to think about its slippery crawling across her skin. A sigh fell out of her. "I should probably be running laps about the practice yard like the novices."

Another set of footsteps entered the hall. "It would not hurt." _Jaheira._ However neutral the Harper's agreement, it still felt like accusation of unfitness when none could disagree Sajantha had always been the least experienced, the least capable, of them all.

Spine stiff, 'twas hard to turn to greet her, but Sajantha gave a nod. As if holding to an indifferent expression hadn't been hard enough already, her stomach sank as she met the druid's eyes: it looked as if the woman wished to _talk._ And if she did, she would surely get her way.

 _'Nowhere to hide,'_ Sarevok reminded her.

A single firm gesture had Minsc and Yoshimo heading one way and Sajantha the other; she fell into step behind the druid, who slowed to glance over her shoulder. "Enjoying your time with the Order members, then?"

But for the lack of actually accomplishing anything of note? If only one lesson could feel more productive! It would surely take days— _ten_ days—to see results. "Aye." For the most part. For all the parts that didn't make her feel worse.

After turning a corner, they were the only two standing in the side hall. Now it would come. Whatever it was. Apprehension knotted Sajantha's lower back.

"Do you believe Keldorn can be trusted? Given your… quest."

 _'Quest?'_ No, _that_ hadn't been the word Jaheira wanted, for it hovered unspoken between them, the truth only once voiced aloud. (But the rest of them had long suspected, hadn't they?) Sajantha's eyes squeezed shut.

But she couldn't hold onto any sort of resentment when the question brought to mind Keldorn's steadfast kindness wavering not at all in the face of her revelation. She gave a nod. "I've no doubt." Strange, to feel so absolutely certain for the first time without her magic there to confirm it. "We can trust him."

"I am glad to hear it. Without your magic, it would help to find the right path for you. You, more than many, must tread carefully."

 _'Carefully.'_ That word again. But the worst part was that she wasn't at all wrong.

"You think Keldorn will help me find my path?" Did such a thing even exist? _'You are your own choices,'_ he'd said, but when was the last time she'd had a choice in anything?

"If not he, then simply help in introducing you to new options. 'Tis an opportunity to expose yourself to skills, to vocations. To… gods."

Sajantha swallowed. Even _thinking_ Oghma's name made her skin itch and her belly twist as if she might dislodge it. A twisted mass of feelings wrapped her in knots of grief and wrath and pain if she dared to remember: _he'd_ abandoned _her,_ not the other way 'round. A betrayal, a hurt that went too deep for words and welled sorrow from the center of her.

Yet what good would a different deity do? There really wasn't much of a point, after all, when one already laid claim to her soul.

"Have you some problem with him?"

"Keldorn? No." But her pause had taken too long for Jaheira to quite believe her. Sajantha cleared her throat and tried again. "It's easy to talk to him. He's a good listener. A good _person."_ And just the thought of the wrinkles of his smiling eyes loosened her chest. A fine man in his own right, but, "I suppose he reminds me of… my father." As if the words needed saying, as if it couldn't be guessed.

But Jaheira's expression relaxed a bit at the admission. "I can see it. I do think Gorion would approve." A hint of a smile struggled onto her face. "Khalid, as well."

Sajantha glanced away. "You're not just saying this to make sure I'm out of the way?"

But Jaheira's astounded tone answered for her. "Out of the way of _what,_ exactly? None of this is aught you can hope to hide from." Her lips twisted. "I would never have had it so, but you are a part of this."

 _'Where do you think you are running to?'_ Irenicus's voice lingered in the air, overlaid with Sarevok's mocking laughter, and Sajantha rubbed at her ears as if they would go quiet, as if this was a sound outside her head and not already invading it.

 _'A part of this.'_ And they wanted her to be a part of the Order, too? Sajantha scuffed the grimy tile with her shoe. "Won't I be bothering them? They've surely quite important things to see to." Especially after what they'd endured recently!

" 'Twas Keldorn himself requested your presence. Whatever such tasks as he has, he wishes your aid."

"Me?" 'Twas Sajantha's turn to be taken aback. More of the tightness in her chest eased, enough that she could take in a deep breath.

"You," Jaheira agreed.

"Oh." Her hand went to her mouth. "Truly?" At the druid's nod, a glowing warmth unfurled inside her, a frail feeling that hadn't been indulged since Edwin had agreed to accompany them.

 _Hope._

* * *

Yoshimo and Minsc had departed the main hall when she returned to it, but it wasn't empty.

A red-robed figure currently claimed the couch. Would anyone else have dared to? One long leg crossed in an 'L' over the other, which would assuredly reveal shapely dark boots if she should allow her gaze to settle upon them. Not that she'd any reason to do so.

As if in agreement, the leg joined its partner on the floor as Edwin straightened, having spotted her. The gaze that ran over her almost looked _pleased,_ but that couldn't be right, could it? Yet… he'd been the one to arrange the armor, hadn't he? Pleased, indeed—with him _self,_ no doubt!—but his eyes narrowed as his gaze lifted. "Your hair. What have you done with your hair?"

Her hair? Who cared about her hair!—especially with so much else to worry over—yet heat flushed through her face. What was wrong with it now?

Sajantha ran her fingers through to smooth it back. A trifle damp from her earlier bath, but perhaps it appeared still oily. But why should it matter! "I thought we were past that. You've not given up teasing me over it?"

"A Red Wizard does not 'tease.' " His expression hovered somewhere between incredulous and insulted.

"Making fun, then. Or do Red Wizards have naught to do with 'fun' either?"

That tipped the scale to 'insulted.' "Red Wizards do not have patience for such impudence!" Yet he followed it up with nothing rude or dismissive—nor aught at all!—as if it had simply been reflex, and he was resigned to examining her a moment more. "Your hair is… sufficient, that is all. You appear presentable enough now that few should dismiss you on sight."

Did that deserve a laugh or a sigh? "Wow, Edwin. You really oughtn't so strain yourself with compliments."

"It is most taxing," he agreed, with enough dourness to rather doubt it.

She smiled and lowered herself to the empty seat.

He grumbled a bit more, shifting away, but 'twas only for the better angle to face her, and her heart jumped a moment to her throat as she scrambled for something to say with his focus so intently upon her.

"So. Jaheira said you were abed all morning? I hope you're feeling better."

"Oh?" One side of Edwin's mouth twitched, though whether 'twas a hint of a grin or a grimace was impossible to tell as he turned his head away. "I cannot imagine _that_ is what she said."

Just what was that supposed to mean? And the confusion must have sat with far too much obviousness upon her face, for now his expression could only be amused. As if he were laughing at her—was he?—gods damn it, her face was turning red again, wasn't it?

Sajantha frowned down at her gloves, picking at the fingers. "I thought you probably needed some sleep, at any rate. It couldn't be easy to ignore the Scroll so long as you did, so I thought maybe it had been keeping you up at night, if that's the only time you've had for it." Who could blame him for that, really.

He gave a shrug. "I have made do."

Mayhap he'd been getting as little sleep as she, though. Even if he'd be sitting at his desk working and not lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Sajantha swallowed away the dryness in her mouth. "Do you… do you ever have trouble sleeping? Just staying awake, thinking about…" Whatever _did_ he think about? "In the dark, all by yourself."

"Not since I was a _child."_ He waved a dismissive hand, then shook his head at her. "Always needing others around, aren't you. I am sure one snoring bunkmate or another could be arranged if you are unable to grow out of it."

"That's…" Heat crept up the back of her neck. "That's not what I meant." _'Not since I was a child.'_ She cleared her throat. "How did you get past it?"

"There is nothing else for it: you must gather strength from your solitude, shape it into independence. Know that there will be no relief but what you create yourself."

When he'd said his parents had played no part in his childhood, and for all the times he'd told them, _'Red Wizards have no friends…'_ "Gods, Edwin… You must have been so lonely."

This time his expression was unmistakable as a sneer curled his lips. "And what would anyone have offered me? You cannot rely on anyone else to do anything for you. If you should come to depend upon them, they will only weaken you from finding your strength."

'Twas impossible to miss the tension that had straightened his back, though, that had widened the space between them; the extra inches dug in like miles. She hugged her arms to herself. Too hard, this was all far too hard on her own. "Maybe I'm already weak. I don't think I can keep going. Not alone."

"You can," the words sounded more a declaration—a _command—_ than an assurance, "but you have never had to before. Stop trying to attach yourself to these paladins whose sense of 'honor' will not allow them to turn you away! You think you can manipulate others into taking care of you? _You_ are the one who needs to take care of yourself—and the only one who should."

 _'Manipulating!'_ Her head shot up. "Is that really how you see me?"

"Someone who believes they are drowning will clutch at anything to stay afloat. But you are not drowning."

"It feels like it." So dark, so turbulent, so hard to breathe, to stay on her feet. "It feels just like I'm drowning."

"Yet you do not try to learn to swim? Focus on what you can do for your own self."

She bit down on her lip. Was that the only solution left to her? "Does that make it hurt less? Being alone?"

Edwin's eyes narrowed.

"I can't." She shook her head. "Mock me all you like, but I just don't work like that." What was the solution? If only being around other people could help keep the shadows at bay? 'Twas not as if she could demand company every night, not when Jaheira had so very carefully never offered to share a room with her. Who would want to suffer her nightmares secondhand?

 _No one._ The answer was as clear as the frustration on Edwin's face, as sharp as the (knives) sudden pain wrenching through her chest.

He rose, taking an entire step away as if the tears threatening her eyes somehow might threaten him as well. "There are potions which will aid your sleep. Drug yourself then, if you can face nothing."

 _"Edwin."_ The ache had seized her lungs, strangled her voice into a gasp. "Please don't—please don't walk away from me. I—I need help. I'm sorry I'm not like you. I can't do this by myself. Please."

He glanced around the hall, nostrils flaring, and glared at the corners as if they each offended him. "What is it you expect me to do?"

 _Anything anything anything._ "I don't know. I don't…" She took in a shaky breath. _Don't leave don't let him leave._ "Tell me a story." The words felt hollow, lacking Imoen's voice.

Had he taken a step forward? 'Twas difficult to focus on anything other than his gaze locked on hers.

Unfazed, Edwin approached the challenge as straightforwardly as he did any other: "There was a boy. A school empty of faces he knew. A room empty of all but a bed and a desk. He realized that his troubles meant naught to anyone but himself, and no one was going to come; no one was going to aid him. If he wished anything to be different, he must take care of it himself. He must take care of himself."

The ache squeezed harder, and heat flared up to her nose, her eyes.

Edwin's serious stare lessened for but a moment as he saw her face, "Wh—these are not tears?" He switched to a scowl. "Gods! Do not cry over a child who no longer exists. This is a tale of perseverance, not one of self-pity!"

"N-no." She blinked as discreetly as she could manage. "Why would I cry? Why would it be sad, thinking of you all by yourself with no one to turn to?"

"Do not read into this—!" His finger pointed with all the accusation he couldn't verbalize. "It is a straightforward story of recognizing the need for self-reliance. How do you not understand this? It is obvious: if you wish change, you are your own catalyst."

Lessons he had learned long ago. "How old were you? When they took you for training."

Edwin's shoulders lowered a bit, though his still-wide stance suggested he'd not quite calmed. "I was not 'taken.' " His chin lifted. " 'Twas a great honor to be selected, especially so young as I was." He stared at her, almost suspicious, as if trying to determine whether this too might backfire. "Five—nearly five."

Proud, so proud, that all her sympathy would feel like pity. She held her tongue, held in all the things that burst onto it, all the things that would only anger him. "It's hard for anyone that age to be able to understand something like 'honor.' I suppose you had to grow up rather fast."

"And you, only now. (A bit overdue, but better late than never.)" He paused a moment before returning to the seat beside her, a warmth just close enough to feel against her side.

She glanced down at her hands. "How many years' head-start do you have on me, do you suppose?" She peeked up only to see him shaking his head.

"You…" A hand briefly rose to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat. "You will not give up on these contemptible attempts to uncover my age?"

"I've been told I'm very stubborn."

"Certainly none would accuse you of being subtle. (There is no reason for this to be amusing.)"

"But you're smiling." If only a little: 'twas enough to bid an answering one within her; she smiled back. "Thank you. For telling me that. I'm sorry I can't be more like you." How much simpler would everything seem, if she were so equipped as he to handle it?

One shoulder raised in a shrug. "There is much which is just becoming known to you. This is not something to apologize for, unless you continue to ignore the truth once aware."

"I think you're starting to make a lot of sense to me."

"Good."

"You, I mean. Not just your words."

He went quite still. Quite quiet, too, as if he couldn't decide whether he ought to feel threatened.

"That's still good," she assured him.

"Hn."

Best change the subject, before he decided he was offended. "I'll be staying with Keldorn. While you're all gone."

"I know." All business once more, Edwin crossed his arms. "Do not forget yourself around him. Who you are."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Who did he think she was?

He frowned. "That you are not a little girl who needs an armored nursemaid. That you are fully capable of taking care of yourself."

"You… you really believe I can?"

"It does not matter what I believe. You must believe in yourself; the opinions of others are irrelevant."

"Do you, though?"

"I believe you are capable of infinitely more than you give yourself credit for. Than you even imagine!" He leaned in. "Do you recall so little of what you've done? I have seen you perform the impossible—I have seen magic pouring from your fingers without form! How much more literal an example of potential do you require?"

Her ears surely burned. "Um. That's good. I guess."

He shook his head. "You 'guess.' " The note of wryness in his voice softened his bearing almost as much as did his loosened posture. "I suppose this is a start."

Could she hug him? Touch him? Something! But what if he… She gripped the edge of the seat. "Thank you."

He granted her a nod. So very formal!

"That's _awfully_ magnanimous of you."

"Good." Leaning back, he stretched his arms out along the back of the couch. "This is what I was aiming for." His mouth straightened, but almost as though he were trying to keep a smile flat.

So serious, even if something like a smirk lurked about him. What would he do if she should lean beneath his raised arm and curl up against him? Stare at her in bafflement? How quickly would he pull away?

"Why do you look at me like this?"

Wh-what did she look like? His words had set her face afire, so _that_ surely couldn't go unnoticed; she jumped up before he could see any closer. "Like what?" Casual, keep her voice casual.

"I do not know; this is why I asked." He sat forward, tilting his head up at her. "You are running again."

Her heart might have missed a beat when he rose to stand before her, _certainly_ did when his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I tell you, Sajantha: I will not coddle you. Only you can decide to rise to your potential. Irenicus did not know what he was doing with you: it has always been _your_ choice."

* * *

=E=

"Whew!" Raviwr floated down to rest upon his shoulder. "That was a close one, Master."

"I do not require your input, you useless pest. (Nor your toes digging into my neck.)"

His familiar shifted a bit, but this only prompted a wing to catch against the back of Edwin's head. "Bumpy start, but you's did okay."

"Did you hear me not? Silence yourself." 'Okay.' _Okay?_ Edwin Odesseiron did nothing 'okay.' As if he could not excel at whatever he deemed worthy of effort!

The imp let out a little giggle. "No run away!"

"I am perfectly capable of carrying a conversation without 'running away!' " Bah!

"No making _her_ run away?" The despicable little creature grinned. "You no make her cry, either! Yes, yes. Good-good."

Edwin straightened his hood. "None of this requires your approval, imp."

But in the next moment, a mild warning infused their bond, doing what no amount of Edwin's reprimands could: the creature's amusement had vanished.

Fists tight, Edwin turned.

A tall armored figure blocked the hall. Angry, perhaps, but not yet hostile—and the paladin had thus far been able to restrain himself, whatever his feelings—so no reason for Edwin's own pulse to pound as if for battle, no reason to take stock of his wands and charms and gauge the space between them. (Four paces or one lunge, if that great sword should be drawn.)

"I had wondered what intentions a man such as you could have."

One pace back would allow an extra second of reaction time. Edwin placed his hands on his hips where they could hover ready: the wand of lightning easily reached at his left, and the spell-pouch of mercury and phosphorous at his right. Oh, his charges and contingencies would all be ready _today;_ no meager silence spell would catch him off-guard. "Excuse me?"

The paladin—fortunately for him!—moved no closer; he waited with disapproval wearing a deeper groove upon his weathered face. Just what did he want? If he wished to be introduced to Edwin's arsenal, the components remained more than ready. "With Sajantha. The descendant of a god."

The words did as little to assuage the tension as did the paladin's glower, still seeped in suspicion. _'God.'_ She had at last admitted such—the truth she could not stomach facing around anyone else—and had borne her soul to a _paladin?_

"You are so concerned with her safety?" Edwin's fingers flexed. "If you truly care about her, you would do best to retreat."

The old man swelled to fill up his armor. Would it take the precision of a needle or the full swipe of a sword to deflate him? Either way, he'd not be able to prepare for what the future held in store.

"If Sajantha had the luxury of being the daughter of such a fine, upstanding _gentleman_ as yourself, no doubt your coddling would be appreciated. But she is not. She is the daughter of death—her blood is of the gods—and such indulgence serves only to weaken her." How much progress would be undone, leaving her with the sanctimonious lout for even a tenday?

"You would have her aspire to a throne of blood and ruin?"

"I would keep her alive, Tormite, by showing her the strength to stand on her own two feet, and not being the crutch that keeps her steady."

"She needs support."

"She needs _strength."_

"They need not be mutually exclusive."

"Be that as it may, but—if you do not heed me—then we two will be."

The paladin crossed his arms. "If it ever comes down to a choice between the two of us, then know that good will triumph."

'Good,' pfeh. The self-righteous claptrap of all holier-than-thou types who could expand their vocabulary no further than their black-and-white box of the world. "You are so sure she will choose you, then?"

"There is no doubt in me."

Such smugness. Such ignorance! He knew her not. Edwin bared his teeth in a smile. "That is exactly why you are wrong. The difference, my dear paladin, is that Sajantha values my skills, whereas you: she values your life. Which do you suppose she will risk in her endeavor? You will not be going with us." He gave his head a shake as he half-turned away (enough to dismiss the lout without sacrificing awareness of his proximity). "Protest if you must, but she is still so weak as to heed her heart, and—so long as you are in it—she will not risk losing you. There is no room for you here; you just haven't realized it yet."

Trusting one's life to others was the surest way to lose it, and Sajantha was at risk so long as she remained this way, without choice.

Paladins were idiots. This one would doubtless find some grand manner in which to throw away his own life, as if impalement at the end of some 'evil-doer's' sword-point might be worth more glory than a throat slit in a back alley.

Dead was dead.

A lesson Sajantha may have taken her time to learn, but not one she would forget.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Thanks to Kyn again for proofing! And thank you my lovely reviewers; you keep me going. :)_

 _I was going to mention this in the next section, but since I had to split it I shall drop it in here as well —_

 _{spydrouge dot deviantart dot com/art/Aknowledgement-Part-I-518381226} = an awesome scene Kyn imagined of when Edwin sees Sajantha's scars! :O WHAT WILL HAPPEN DUN DUN DUN_


	20. Competition I

=S=

Everywhere Sajantha turned was black. Darkness with a weight to it, pressing in no matter how quickly she moved.

Herding her.

 _Where?_ More nothing, everywhere nothing, it would suck her in, drain her, devour.

 _'Run,'_ her father's last words howled in her ear, _'Run!'_

Her feet obeyed, her heart racing as well, and her breath came fast and faster—then it didn't come at all. Strangled into a gasp, all the air left her lungs, like something reached inside her and _squeezed._

"You cannot hide from me," a deep voice chuckled, _"sister."_ The voice boomed, a vibrating thrum that her skin shivered beneath, raw and exposed, and laughter filled her ears (overflowing bursting crawling in), as she backed up into something solid (nowhere left to go)—

A shudder followed her as Sajantha shook herself awake. A heavy pressure held her down, blind—awake, wasn't she _awake?_ —no no _no more._

She wrenched herself up, sucking in air. Her room, she was in her room, that dingy room at the Coronet, all splintery wood and mildewed mattress, not in Candlekeep (where Sarevok had cornered her, turned them all against her).

It took far too much concentration to steady her breaths. Must the demons in her head all take turns haunting her? _Nightmare, just one more nightmare._ Except it wasn't really, was it, not if it were true. And she'd said the words aloud—Sarevok was right—there wasn't anywhere left to hide any longer.

 _'Gorion was never your father.'_

The blankets twisted around her, clinging as she slid out of bed. Sweat on the sheets, on her skin, in the air. Already fitting in with the slimy patrons hereabouts, wasn't she?

Sajantha scraped her hair back, her fingers for once sliding smoothly through. _Something_ fortunate, at least, for her hair remained relatively tame, retaining the sleekness of the lingering oils. Just like the pillow had. And her _face—?_

She grimaced as she rubbed her cheek. The residue likely required a thorough scrubbing, yet without aught but cold basin-water at hand, she'd only spread the oiliness around.

Imoen had always complained thusly about the grease from the kitchens back home, and valiantly tried to extract compensation from Winthrop for the trouble of battling breakouts. Probably more due his affection than her persistence, he'd gifted her with strawberry-scented facial soap. Which _—_ probably due to that relentless persistence _—_ he'd cleverly prepared so as not to resemble soap at all, so who could fault her when she'd tried to take a bite from it?

Sajantha smiled to herself as she pulled on her clothes. Where did he think Imoen's fondness for pranks had come from? She let out a sigh and tied back her hair. Such soap would be quite welcome now, but…

 _But._ But what a silly insignificant thing to worry over, because being willing to do _anything_ to get her friend back hardly left room for such vain luxuries.

 _Gods._ Sajantha rubbed her eyes. She ought at least have more sleep to show for it if she kept rising so late as this! Going by the noise outside, it was at least mid-morning, and Jaheira would be restless for waiting. Or have ceased waiting altogether.

The sound of footsteps sped Sajantha to the door, and while it wasn't any impatient group member in the hall, the tall slender figure was familiar enough, yet she hardly looked the same at all: far too pale, the woman's golden skin had lost its sparkle.

"Zaviera…?" Sajantha stepped closer. "What is it?"

Zaviera gave a shake of her head, yet the very violence of the quick motion contradicted it: 'twas the kind of shake that had something to say yet worked to hold it in; all that flew free of her was mussed wisps of hair.

From down the hall, a voice called— _ordered—_ Zaviera's name. The same narrow-eyed woman from before—the 'Madam Nin' they'd spoken of?—jutted her sharp chin towards them in a clear command, expecting to be followed.

"I… I'll tell you later." Zaviera's gaze kept jumping to the stairs, like she expected something—some _one_ —to be right behind her; with those slender limbs and large dark eyes, she appeared like nothing so much as a skittish doe.

Something was ever so clearly _wrong,_ but without knowing what, how might she help? Sajantha reached out. "Here." Lacey would do it—if she were around—Sajantha tried to straighten the woman's hair, arranging the loose strands to more artfully frame her face.

Lips pressed too tightly together to speak, Zaviera simply squeezed her hand in thanks. Once a few strides away, she'd slipped into a graceful gait, shoulders back, shedding all signs of discomfort before she walked past the madam and her critical eyes.

But just what had so discomfited her? Sajantha glanced back to the stairs, as if the answer might be waiting. A customer, perhaps, who had frightened her?

Footsteps, fast and purposeful. Someone was coming up the staircase—

Oh. _Jaheira._ Sajantha loosened the grip on her sword hilt. 'Twas just Jaheira. Though she didn't look especially happy to see Sajantha. Not that she ever looked especially happy (anymore).

"You slept in. Yet you do not appear to have slept well." The Harper's discriminating gaze ran over her, with force enough to feel like a blow. "You may not need as much sleep as humans, but do not think—"

 _"I know."_ Not human. _Half-_ human, of course Jaheira had meant, but if her mother had been an elf, and her father had been… whatever he was… there wasn't any human in there at all, was there?

(Did she know? She must know.)

The woman was staring at her as if chewing words inside her cheek. Apparently not finding them to her taste, she gave a shake of her head. _Yes._ No reason to talk about that, to venture into territory best left undisturbed.

"Today's list." She deposited the slip of paper into Sajantha's hands.

"What?" Another list!

"You'll be picking up the armor, as well as some other items."

More? What else could they truly need? And just how many more coins would this slip from their goal? To buy—Sajantha brought the page closer—what… what was this? Items for grooming— _cleaning_ —soap. Heat flamed to her ears.

Only supplies enough for _one,_ for the others must have already made sure to equip themselves, and had noted that she alone did not. So they all agreed she…? Well, it would hardly do to sniff at herself now and confirm it; Sajantha's hand clenched, wrinkling the page.

 _Gods._ The smallest of mercies, that the words were boldly lettered and not a flowing scrawl.

Jaheira was already dressed and armored. For whatever mission they—the _rest_ of them—had today, no doubt.

Sajantha lowered the paper with a stiffness in her wrist. "Are you summoning Keldorn again for 'watch-duty' with me, then?" Her voice came out sounding nearly as strained as the words felt in her throat.

Jaheira tipped her head. In agreement, or…? _Behind her._

Her heart had picked up speed—as if she'd been expecting _what_ exactly?—and didn't calm 'til she'd turned.

Almost mirroring a certain wizard from two nights ago, Anomen stood with his hand half-stretched towards her. Though _he_ didn't look to seize her arm so much as offer his own, a gesture that faltered as he tried to make sense of the assuredly startled look upon her face.

"I am here to escort you," he informed her, for she'd not yet managed to move. Yet the words sounded strangely like she'd be doing himan honor, rather than the drudgerous duty it must be in truth. At least he wasn't going to make her feel foolish about it.

"I will brew a relaxant for you." Jaheira's voice interrupted her smile, plucked it free before it could much grow. "Sleeping potions do little to alleviate nightmares."

She had to bring that up now? "Thanks." The word hissed from Sajantha's lips as she turned to focus on something—anything—else, but there was only Anomen and his doubtless intrigue; she tried not to scowl at the floor as the sound of Jaheira's footsteps faded. Of course she'd gone and ensnared Anomen's curiosity with her parting remark.

"Nightmares?" He said it as if the only horrors she'd seen had been abed; images flashed behind her eyes (red and redder), and Sajantha shook her head and only stopped glaring at the ground when her gaze drifted towards Edwin's hall. Of course he'd still be busy, just what good would thinking about him do?

"Sajantha? What is it?"

'What,' indeed? And why should the question make her nearly jump? "Oh, I… nothing. I don't know." Her head was such a _mess_ and nothing made any sense anyway so what was the use of trying to straighten this tangle? Just… just push it down. She gave her head a shake, and the tail of her tied hair whipped right into her eyes; she clawed it away, blinking. Someday she'd get used to it.

"You should be careful with that." Anomen's pointed hand paused just before it reached her still-stinging cheek

He'd meant it a joke, but it didn't feel very much like one, not when everyone needed her to be so 'careful' that they kept her out of the way. How long did they expect 'twould take for her to 'recover?' It wasn't as if her troubles might ever end, even without the skinners.

But… none of that was Anomen's fault, was it, and he was patiently awaiting her reply. And he'd not pressed her for any details. And still held his arm out just enough to be clear she wasn't unwelcome, without being insistent about it.

Her mouth tugged upward, half in determination, half in a smile, and she slipped her arm through his just as she and Keldorn had walked the day before.

* * *

Being beneath the sun helped alleviate the worst of the still-clinging shadows, with the outside more invigorating than the cramped contents of the inn. At least once they were out of the slums district.

By the time they reached the Promenade, her mood had improved, and that was even before seeing the exquisite craft-work on the armor!

The clothier explained the enchantments upon it, and the fact that she needed to, that Sajantha couldn't detect them on her own, made it hard to hear. Protections, of course there'd be plenty of protections; Edwin would settle for nothing less.

But just _looking_ at it, that was hardly difficult to do; Sajantha held it out so she could better admire it. "It's beautiful," she murmured, and Anomen agreed.

A vest long enough to hang to her knees, it offered plenty of coverage without restricting movement: the thick-quilted weave was the sort of thing spellcasters would prize for its flexibility as well as its protection. The strikingly lovely light blue color was embroidered with silver threading, and overall 'twas a fine blend of smoothness and sturdiness.

She _had_ needed something of more reliability than a battered leather chest-piece, hadn't she? It needed be done. And someone would have had to pick it up; it may as well be her. She ran her fingers over the delicate needlework. There'd be time later to decipher the symbols spiraling through it.

Sajantha folded the garment back up, hugging it against her chest as she thanked the woman and departed, giving Anomen a smile as he held the clothier's door open for her. "Escorts from the Order of the Radiant Heart to take me shopping." Two days in a row! "How many are allowed such an honor?"

"I should be thanking you, my lady; 'tis quite a respite from my normal duties. It seems every tenday or so I'm assigned to some off-site patrol or other, or a local post requesting reinforcements."

"Oh, what does that involve?"

"For the most part?" He gestured, half-smiling, half-grimacing. "Lots of walking."

"That sounds familiar." All up and down the Sword Coast last year, walking and walking interrupted with bouts of killing. Though she'd managed to keep her hands clean, at first. Anomen had seen his share of battle. Which of the two of them would have the more blood on their hands…?

She glanced down only to find the armor had nearly slipped free of her suddenly-stiff fingers.

"You should put it on, my lady." Anomen nodded to the bundle as she gathered it back. "There is little use carrying it about, after all."

Yes. Think about something in the now, stay in the moment. She pulled the clothing closer so its softness brushed her chin. "I suppose. But I'll have to get something else to wear beneath it." The loose ill-fitting clothing she wore now would only bunch up. More expenses, more expenses. (Back in the dungeon, they'd worn the same clothing for days and days and days.)

"What has that fruit stand done to so deserve your displeasure?" Anomen's voice prodded her from the swirling thoughts.

Gods, couldn't she keep her mind focused for more than a minute at a time? She apologized to the vendor she'd accidentally assaulted with a scowl, though Anomen must have had other ideas for reparations: he was holding two peaches he must have purchased there. A little late to lament the extra cost now, yet she hesitated before taking one.

"Thanks, but it's alright; I'll save mine for someone." Surely that should be sufficient compromise for her conscience.

Anomen looked a bit ruffled. Or perhaps it was just the way the wind had riled up his thick hair. "Who?"

"Yoshimo—we've a, a thing, of sorts, a food game. Only he's winning." Certainly she ought to pay him back with more than thanks. She rolled the fruit between her hands.

Anomen turned back to the vendor, and held up three fingers. _Yoshimo, Jaheira, Minsc…_

"Four," she reminded. "You forgot one." With Edwin holed up in his room of late, no doubt he'd slipped Anomen's mind.

"Four," Anomen repeated, and then returned to her side with a full bag. Did he look just a bit miffed she'd had to correct him? A cat, the raised fur of a rankled cat, that's what his hair looked like, save in curls rather than spikes.

He probably wouldn't take it so very well if she should try to pat his head. "That's awfully sweet of you, Anomen, thank you. I appreciate it—and I'm sure the rest of them will, too—these are delicious!"

They spent the next few minutes window-shopping while they ate.

"Oh, look!" Sajantha pointed—but her fingers weren't very visible beneath her bundle, so she shifted it and reached for Anomen's arm. "Those little wind-up toys. Did you ever play with them as a child? One of my old tutors—his name's Parda, he's a craft-worker of Gond—he was always building little things like that." Though _technically_ he was supposed to apply all that ingenuity and inventiveness to the research and development of new spells, it remained a favored hobby of his to work with his hands as much as his mind.

Might she have entrusted him with her secret of Miirym and received his aid to free her? It was too late now to ever know. After her own father (not her father) had refused her…

Anomen smiled at the colorful assortment of characters—some warriors and dragons had been lined up in the front display—but shook his head. "I was playing at _real_ swords. Well, ah, wooden ones. A mite bigger." He demonstrated a space apart with his hands.

"You've always wanted to be a knight, haven't you?" His dream, he'd called it, the purpose which shaped his life. What might it be like, to have such a thing to choose for yourself?

"Always," he agreed, something soft and nostalgic in his voice clashing with a fierce determination.

With a smile, she tugged him away from the toy stand. "Thanks for the snack; I quite enjoyed it." Certainly the Coronet was found wanting with anything fresh.

"It should serve us 'til highbite." Anomen's voice sounded a bit distracted: he was looking down at his clothes with his hands a bit out—oh!—looking for somewhere to wipe his sticky fingers?

She'd simply wiped her own on her worn skirts, but Anomen would not want to soil his far finer gear. A bit odd seeing him again bare of armor, though today his simple clothing had been covered by a knee-length surcoat emblazoned with the Watcher's eye: but for absent plate mail, he looked every bit the storybook image of a knight.

"Here," she offered, stretching out her skirts to share. "They'll end up in the waste bin soon enough, anyway." Even being laundered couldn't save them from all they'd been through. With hope this new gear would hold up far better.

Her suggestion had turned Anomen's expression straight to scandalized—and his face nearly crimson—he gave a cursory brush against his thighs before moving on.

She probably oughtn't laugh. Edwin would be far more likely to take her up on the offer before dirtying his own robes, though him even getting so messy in the first place was hard to imagine.

They climbed their way up to the higher tiers—where the most inexpensive wares were—for the less-important gear: a handful of breathable shirts (that hid her scars), patterned knee-length skirts in the local style and leggings to wear beneath them, a nightdress, socks, a hairbrush, soaps, all the tiny accessories of day-to-day living she'd been neglecting. It was time to stop pretending life could stay on hold long enough to gather coin. (Especially at this rate.)

Camisoles would serve as undergarments well enough. She hardly had any bust to boast of that would require the support of a brassiere or be flattered by a corset—and gods, were they expensive! Although Anomen's presence alone should deter her from entering one of those heavily-perfumed lace-laden shops.

It had been difficult enough to slip underpants into the mix without calling attention! So proper as he was, he'd like as not be more embarrassed than she; this couldn't possibly be the sort of thing he'd ever thought to sign on for.

Anomen helped carry some of the load, and kept shrugging off her apologies. "You forget I have a sister. You remind me of her, actually." He cleared his throat. "Though we've not shopped together in years. But it is no great bother."

 _Sister…_ "It's the sort of thing I would have done with Imoen, I suppose." Sajantha nodded at the ground.

"Is there aught we can do that will not remind you of her?" A flush had risen to his face by the time she glanced up. "I, ah, did not mean to sound… simply to make new memories, though."

"The sewers was a new one."

And that lightened his face; he let out a rather sheepish laugh. "Perhaps we might try for _pleasant_ memories."

"We're doing alright, I think." She smiled down at her full pack. "I really appreciate all your help. You and Keldorn, taking time out of your day to help me with such silly things. I'm—"

"If the next word from your mouth is another apology, I must insist you keep it to yourself."

"Sorry. Ah—" She ducked her head. "I mean, I just feel as if I'm always such a burden upon everyone." No, 'burden' was far too kind a word, when the people Jaheira and Minsc had loved most in all the world would never again stroll with them through market stalls or feel the wind on their faces, would never again share smiles as they—

Something tugged at her—something soft—a pressure on her fingers.

"Where did you go?" But no impatience filled his question, just… concern. The same concern that filled the warm brown eyes gazing at her; Anomen's hand closed over hers, and his skin was warm as well. "Stay here with me. I mean—well—if you like, they should be serving highbite at the Order soon." He let go of her, and gestured. "Simple fare, but…"

She drew a hand quickly across her eyes, and he averted his own eyes, pretending not to notice. "That sounds lovely, Anomen; thank you."

* * *

=E=

However enticing it was to piece together the Scroll fragment by scattered fragment, this dismal hole had held Edwin in long enough. He required fresh air. He required required something which did _not_ involve staring until his eyes burned and his muscles locked in place.

The urge had steadily risen in his awareness until focusing on the Scroll became a sheer effort of teeth-clenching willpower. Edwin shifted in his seat. He required… _ah._ Something which would not allow itself to be ignored any longer.

This eager restlessness was a familiar enough occurrence (despite not adhering to an approved schedule), and with inconvenient obstinacy, it rarely departed of its own volition. Unfortunate that such urges were far too base to first request permission, but at least they were an obstacle easily surmountable.

Made even easier by the location: perhaps the Coronet's single redeeming attribute. The 'silver lining to the cloud' as they said here. Here, where the populace suffered to the whims of weather and thus needed to comfort themselves with such platitudes.

Edwin grimaced at the page, making one last notation before he rose to his feet. Hardly an onerous task, but suffering at the whims of anything—or anyone—would be far easier to submit to did it align with his preferred timetables.

* * *

The whore he selected possessed a statuesque height rarely encountered amongst the far stouter Westerners, and with her dark hair and olive skin, he could nearly imagine he was back in his homeland. _Nearly._ So long as she did not speak.

Yet once returned to his room, it became apparent some momentary nostalgia had surely clouded his vision: at first glance, her elegant figure had quite aligned with the Mulani aesthetics, but upon a closer look, those slender arms far more closely resembled Sajantha's earlier knobby wrists.

He frowned.

"My lord. I was hoping we might speak." The demurely lowered gaze lifted to reveal eyes not nearly so. "You… you're a wizard, are you not? Someone's after me. I thought perchance you might aid me, we could work out a—"

 _What._ Edwin's nails dug into his palms, his fists tight as his clenched jaw. What the _Hells._ This— _surely_ this could not be happening—!

As if the anger within him had exploded outward, a roiling burst of smoke filled the space between them, centered around red glowing eyes and unfurling gray wings.

And though the bedamned imp could hardly be called fearsome with such ridiculous theatrics (nor did the fool thing even reach the height of one's knee), the whore let out a shrill noise between a scream and a squeal, and tripped over her dress as she ducked to the side.

The aggression that had spurred Raviwr out of hiding had dissipated into a cackling amusement as his familiar took in the scene, and with rare intelligence, he disappeared before Edwin banished him.

A pity the wench would not be so simply dealt with.

He scowled. Could this be any more of a mess! Could she not simply have done her one gods-damned job with her mouth shut? This was _not_ too much to ask.

Turning to her, he cut his hand through the air. _"You_ do not negotiate with _me."_ What manner of delusion had poisoned her mind unto such blatant disrespect? As if he had summoned her here for _conversation!_ "Must I find another who does not forget her station?"

"N-no, please! I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—"

As if apologies had ever been worth anything.

Makeup had relocated upon her face in unflattering streaks. Was there any way to even salvage this? Perhaps if she turned around, and he didn't have to look at her… but even that failed to rouse more than his temper, the way she yet trembled. _Crying?_ Ugh. This was not going to work. Edwin grit his teeth. "Get out of here."

She blinked at him with reddened eyes.

" _Leave."_

He contained the spell until the last of her skirts swished from sight: _"Gethrisj."_ The telekinetic burst slammed the door behind her and left the flimsy frame shuddering.

Sajantha— _gods._ This was surely her meddling fault. The potion, it must be his help she'd purloined with that potion—or perhaps enough of them had observed his leniency towards her continued impertinence—they all thought him soft, allowing such familiarity! And sought to _make use_ of him for it?

The outrage of it surged down his arms to his tight fists. Before her, who would have _dared_ step so far out of bounds?

In Thay, this should be simply solved by a quick killing to remind them all of their place (not that they would have _forgotten_ their place!), but such a thing would be far too expensive to settle here, and Sajantha would never understand the necessity of it.

 _Ugh._ How had it come to this, that he must allow another to dictate his behavior! Was there no end to the exasperation that girl caused, that it managed to intrude even upon his _bedroom?_

This could not be tolerated.

Except… He shot a glare towards the returned imp. "I do not require the reminder!" No. He knew it well: he had no choice but to tolerate this arrangement. For now.

Yes, he may have to bend to Sajantha's whims—on _occasion_ —but no other's. 'Twas just as important here as Thay to maintain his reputation; what would he be without it?

* * *

=S=

The quiet that greeted them as they stepped into the Order's entry hall immediately made it clear: "We're early," Anomen said. "I apologize; I thought I'd heard the Highsun bells."

"Much better than being late!" Sajantha looked around and took in a deep breath of the gardenia-scented air. "So where do you all practice fighting?" That didn't sound quite right, yet 'duels' was surely too formal. "Swords, lessons." Whatever such things were called.

"The practice yard…?" A realization grew in his pause, some hesitancy that might grow into outright refusal did she not forestall it.

"You said you could help me learn to better use my blade, aye? We've finally a chance for it. Come on! We'll eat after." Though she could hardly pull him along when she'd no idea _where,_ but fortunately he acquiesced, and led them from the echoing halls to a side door.

And _here_ came the sounds of voices, of shouts and laughs, of the clash of steel and the clatter of wood. A spinning stave knocked the sword free between two combatants with an impressive—and painful-sounding—thwack.

Sajantha took a step closer to Anomen as they slipped past the pairs of fighters. Trying not to flinch at the sounds of such close combat (behind her, crawling up her back) only worked up to a point; the shick of a blade made her muscles quiver and flex with far too many memories. _'We stitch together pretty things all the time.'_

Something touched her (the blade dragged across her skin) and she went _rigid,_ locked in place, but for the arm that whipped out to… to…

Anomen, it had just been Anomen trying to catch her attention, but the recognition took a moment to form in between the heavy pulses of her heart, and her (empty) hand had already struck his chest.

They stood in a strange half-embrace, for he must have thought she was _falling,_ for he'd tried to support her, straighten her. Just as well, for the rush of adrenaline had left her tense and trembling. Conveniently convincing.

He took a moment to release her, as if wary she'd fall straight to the ground without support.

Sajantha clenched the hilt of her sword, and as if it was an anchor, it helped steady her breaths and her footing. _Alright._ Was she finished looking like a fool now? They'd not even started yet!

"Sorry. I…" She bit down on her lip. He didn't need to know what nearly… what _could have…_ She gave a shrug, tried to wave it away. "I should probably practice with a wooden one, right? Are there any my size?" She pointed towards a nearby weapon stand with several spare spears.

Anomen eyed the weapons, eyed _her,_ then turned away. "There is a great deal to cover before we introduce weaponry."

What? "But the _whole point_ is the weapons!"

"No. 'Tis about keeping you alive." His gaze turned stern, as if mirroring Helm's eye upon his chest, and that glowering surcoat reminded her that this was somehow official, that they'd stepped into his territory. His rules.

She bit her tongue.

"So you will be better informed as to how to handle yourself. What to do," he gave her a _look,_ "and what _not_ to do. Such as launching yourself after vampires."

Her face heated. Did he expect her to just stand back and watch her friends fall? "I don't _get_ a choice. It's not to about 'defense,' it's so I can handle myself offensively, too." One more thing she couldn't keep running from. "What, you think I only need to learn how to stay alive long enough for someone else to come and save me?" And the look on his face made her heart sink, as if she had indeed spelled out his thoughts.

'Twas too hard to tell apart all the feelings that battled inside her, that wanted to erupt in tears and screams and shouts, but she pinched her lips shut and held them in, held them 'til they battled each other unto silence and left her wrung-out and empty, because all he'd seen was a girl who didn't know what she was doing, a girl who needed to be kept safe while someone else played the hero.

He didn't see all the other parts of her. The deepest part, the conviction that Irenicus had uncovered (had cut so deep to find): that she was ready to kill far before she was ready to die.

Anomen's mouth had tightened as if he wished to argue, but at whatever he saw on her face, he gave a curt nod. "As you wish. But learning how to strike will do you little good if you fail to dispatch your opponent immediately; defense is part of the package."

"Just so long as it's only _part."_ But she attempted a smirk to show she wasn't trying to be difficult. Not that he could ever quite seem to tell whether she were serious.

"It is simply… this is a dangerous subject to pursue." Not so dangerous as _not_ knowing it! "I do not wish you to see you hurt."

"Then you'd best be a fair teacher, hm?" It raised a flush to his cheeks, for he couldn't tell whether 'twas a tease or a jibe, and for a moment she couldn't either. But… _'dangerous.'_ He'd just been worried about her like he worried over his sister—whom she reminded him of, apparently!—and how could she pretend not to understand that?

She didn't have to force a smile this time. "Thank you for helping me; I quite appreciate it. I'm sure it will take forever to fill me in on everything you know!" She really _didn't_ know anything, not compared to him.

"Longer still to practice it," he agreed dryly.

Once he began instructing, Anomen calmed down quite a bit; 'twas quite clear this was where he was most comfortable. _At home._ A subject he knew well, for he gave precise direction with none of his second-guessing or hesitations, not even hesitating to correct her. Which he had to do a lot. "They'll have no difficulty knocking you over if you've not the proper stance. Pay attention to your footing."

Who would have thought the basics of swordplay should stem from one's feet? But it took little time to recognize the truth in it; watching the fluidity with which he moved really made it clear just how much practice it took to develop such reflexes!

She'd seen plenty of battles, certainly, but they always flashed by in such a chaotic mess, so who had the time to appreciate all that went into such movements? The detail and intricacies became lost in the flurry and fury of battle, so impossible to pick out before now.

"Do you dance?"

 _That_ put a stop to the smoothness quite quickly. Anomen had paused with his mouth partway open, his irritation at being interrupted mitigated by… had she managed to embarrass him again?

"I imagine you'd be a wonderful dancer, is all."

"I, ah… perhaps upon a time. I've had little need to practice, so whatsoever skills I may have are surely rusty." He cleared his throat. "Some call sword-dueling a 'dance.' Much attention needs be paid to footwork, as well as an awareness of your, ah, partner."

 _Footwork._ So if she focused on his feet and not on his voice, it might almost be like he was teaching her proper steps for dancing, like maybe this was a world where she'd just bought a new dress instead of new armor, a world where she might learn graceful movements for the pleasure of it, and not because the wrong motions would leave her dead.

But it was getting so hard to remember how to play pretend.

* * *

=E=

Edwin emerged from his room to find the sun already well overhead—Highsun, certainly—though the foul windows were difficult to see through. More than a little disorienting when he'd left his quarters little in the last two days.

"Finally deigning to join us, I see." The Harper sat by herself in the dining area; in a surprising show of good sense, none of the locals loafing about had elected to sit nearby, but nor had any group members. (Where had they run off to? 'Twas normally difficult to pry the lot of them apart, yet the lumbering barbarian offended far too many senses to be overlooked, naming them conspicuously absent.)

"I hope you've sufficiently caught up on your _rest_." The smirk suggested she must have seen one or the other of the whores leaving his quarters earlier, and felt herself clever.

"Assuredly." (The only advantage to staying in this place: at least it had been no strain to find a replacement.) He took a seat on the far side of the table. She'd said 'us,' after all, so presumably they would be arriving—

The sound of a tray sliding across the table called Edwin's attention from the door. And the one _holding_ it—

"Your meal, Lady Jaheira."

"Thank you."

 _The paladin._ Edwin straightened back into his chair as nerves itched up his spine, determined to spoil any of his residual relaxation, and his hands tightened as they moved beneath the table. To his spell pouch. Let the lout try a command of silence today, pfeh!

Whether he had taken notice of the action or not, the Tormite made a poor show of censoring hostility from his tone. "I was just telling your companion of a besieged town which sounds most worthy of attention."

"Indeed?" However long overdue was a change of scenery, Edwin kept his voice flat. "I presume you've managed to find a location even more distasteful than this city." Not worth his _own_ attention, surely, but he must follow these fools around so long as Sajantha did, and with this group, the odds of any excursion being an improvement were foolish to plan upon.

Yet somehow the prospect of departing remained appealing. " 'Tis not as though I have a thousand other things I'd rather do than sit about here." It would truly be wondrous to get away from the Cowled Wizards and their mage-phobic populace. To name a few.

Edwin slid his gaze past the paladin. "(You are certain one of such a _venerable_ age will be able to keep up? Surely we will pass him by as assuredly as his best years have fallen behind.)"

"I will not be accompanying you." The old man drew back his chin. "For mine own reasons."

"Good." The 'reasons' mattered not at all; Edwin's fingers unclenched.

The paladin stared at him, with… was that a slight smile?

"I'm glad you agree." The druid's voice was brusque. "We'll leave in the morning. Be sure to leave one of your safety lectures with Sajantha before we go; I think she shall heed you far more than I."

Was this a taunt?—but, no—Sajantha was not coming? Edwin could not keep the frown from his face. "You intend to leave her," his frown deepened as the realization struck, "with this ancient rust-bucket?" Of course, of _course,_ this would be their angle, and explain the expression upon the Harper's face, far closer a grin than her standard glares.

She shrugged as she took a drink. "Most people would find leaving her in _your_ company far more worrisome."

"Most people have not the cognitive prowess to surpass a goat. Speaking of this, I fail to see why you wish my accompaniment, if you find me so reprehensible. Rest assured, the feeling is more than mutual." Dragging him along on their little excursion, bah! Better to find somewhere far away from all of these idiots where he could research in peace. And where Sajantha would remain safe. Without distracting him.

"Your skills would serve us well."

"So would a jaunt through _the elemental plane of fire."_ Edwin's fingers flexed in anticipation of the first spell-form. "I can arrange such an outing if you like."

"Yes," she gave a sigh, "I'm sure you'll do your best to make sure we all enjoy this."

 _Enjoy_ this? Why subject himself to these indignities at all—why had he not yet ensured none of them could again interfere with his plans! (Sajantha, of course, again _Sajantha:_ too much risk their deaths would make her even _less_ cooperative.)

Smugness no longer softened the Tormite's gray gaze; his stare held all the obnoxious intensity of his judgmental deity.

No— _no._ This was not acceptable, to leave her! In the care of a self-righteous gloating _holy warrior?_ Not that either would heed his objection; Edwin bit his tongue. And just what would further protest reveal, when they already trusted him so little?

 _Alright._ He rubbed his chin. Some way must be found to work around it, then.

The smallest of victories, but they both appeared slightly unnerved by his smile.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Okay, ack, this was once supposed to be part of another chapter, then I had to split it, then when I started filling in this half, IT ALSO BECAME TWO CHAPTERS?! (I have heard that's preferable to one really long one.) Though now the sections I am extra excited about keep getting farther away, sigh. :P Good news is the next chapter is close to done so I won't have a delay this time. Or maybe I should, because chapter 22 is also a mess. (And will likely turn into two chapters, too!)_

 _Part of me wants to apologize for not much action happening lately (how does it keep getting so stretched out?! *will never finish this*) but the other part is fairly confident no one is here to read about battle scenes, so… ;3 Thank you all for reading, and thank youuuu Kyn for helping me fix so many things (and for strawberry Imoens :D)._


	21. Competition II

=S=

After a half-day of practicing and a marvelously hot bath, exhaustion oozed out from Sajantha's muscles to seep into her very bones and left all her limbs watery; she nearly collapsed upon the couch, its plush cushions welcoming her with an embrace too soft to escape from.

Anomen had dropped her off at the Coronet an hour before, though he'd left reluctantly, and not before remarking how ill-suited such a place was for her. At the same time as such concern felt condescending, it was difficult to disagree. Yet where would she feel more comfortable, exactly? The Flagons had been lovely, but 'twas a place of laughter and bright cheer, and that was even less appropriate while Imoen suffered; Sajantha belonged nowhere else.

With the seat all to herself, she had plenty of room to spread out, or even lie down—'twas infinitely more comfortable than her lumpy thin mattress!—yet the thought of doing so threatened to tighten her loose muscles with… tension? Was the thought of letting her guard down alone in public so frightening?

Perhaps Edwin was getting to her.

She'd barely had time to soak up much relaxation before Minsc and Yoshimo entered the hallway, but she managed to haul herself back to her feet to greet them. "You're back! How did everything go?"

With his usual enthusiasm, Minsc explained their day, telling of local highwaymen who preyed upon merchants departing the Promenade. With their coffers full after selling goods, they made for tempting targets. "The trader hired us to protect him, but heroes do more than this; heroes must protect everyone! So Minsc agreed, only to stop them once and for all."

"We hid in a wagon to draw them out," the ranger continued with a grin, "then the full wrath of Minsc-and-Boo justice fell upon them!" Some wild delight lit his face, a reminder of his unleashed berserker fury, and imagining the aftermath almost made her wince.

Yoshimo must have noticed her expression. "A few survivors," he offered. "Now languishing in the jail awaiting judgment." Then, with a dexterity reminiscent of his martial skills, he smoothly redirected the conversation and asked her of her own day.

"Footwork?" He grinned with mock indignation once she'd explained. "But this is my very own area of expertise! Have you not heard I can dance on the head of a pin?"

Sajantha had to smile. "I hope you are _offering_ such impressive skills and not merely flaunting them."

"Bragging is the boon of the mighty and heroic!" Minsc cut in. "All must know of our strengths so that evil fears to raise its most ugly head!"

"If evil is hiding from you," Yoshimo raised his eyebrows, "how will you know to vanquish it?"

"Evil is always outed." Certainty filled Minsc's reply, one he'd tolerate no rebuttal to. Unless it came from his hamster, surely.

Yoshimo turned back to her. "Are you finding the warrior-cleric to be an adequate instructor? For you need only say the word…"

"I'm sure there's so much I can learn from you both! If you're up for it, of course. The least I can do for repayment is offerings of admiration and allowing you the chance to show off your abilities." And—oh!—the peaches! She'd have to grab them from her room.

He gave a chuckle. "No, this Yoshimo is of course too humble to ever suggest such a thing! Was that how you ensnared the knightling?"

 _'Ensnared!'_ A frown pulled at her mouth. Surely that was far too brash a word! "He needs someone to believe in him, that's all. I don't think people take him so seriously as he wishes." All because of his father, feeling like he had so much to prove. "But it's not as if I have to pretend! He's quite knowledgeable—I've learned a lot already—and skilled, as well; he moves so quickly!"

Yoshimo's inscrutable face left little clue as to his thoughts. "Is that so?"

"Aye! You couldn't have seen him without his armor before, though," such a thing couldn't help but weigh down his movements, "but truly."

"I see." And then a smile quirked at his lips. "Perhaps it is the knightling who has _you_ ensnared, eh?"

"Yoshimo!" She tried to hold in a laugh and gave his arm a half-smack, half-shove. "You'd best not suggest such a thing around him; he's dreadfully easy to tease. We picked up socks and talked about family _—_ I remind him of his _sister_ —and I managed to commit several slips of etiquette, all _before_ getting ripe and sweaty out in the sun." Just as well she'd acquiesced to their suggestions of soap.

"I planned it to the last lovely detail, you see. If anyone's ensnaring anyone, it shan't involve me." More than a few embarrassing moments on both their sides! Though she always seemed to come out ahead. Yet Anomen never seemed to hold it against her. Of course he'd treat her so kindly, though, endeavoring to be a knight of worth with a sister who'd further fostered his desire to be a protector.

"Ah. Who can be so certain of their future? _Ashita no koto o iu to tenjou no nezumi ga warau."_ Yoshimo gave a wink. " 'If you speak of tomorrow, the rats in the ceiling will laugh.' "

"I…" And just like that, the light flashed out inside her as the spark of humor lightening her went cold. "I know enough of my future to know what's not in it." What did he think? That she might magically be whisked away from all this by a handsome knight and live happily ever after? As if her heart had crawled into her throat, it became difficult to swallow.

Anomen… he hadn't been mistaken about her, not really; she wasn't cut out for this—wasn't _anything_ —not some princess in a story, nor the hero of it. Heroes battled with their enemies, not with the urge to quit; they didn't want to run back home so much it hurt. They didn't cry themselves to sleep at night.

She gave her head a shake. "Life's not a fancy-tale."

"Sajantha…" But her name hung in the air, for there was nothing Yoshimo could really say, was there, nothing anyone could do.

She kept shaking her head 'til she'd forced down the lump in her throat. "Anyway. What I need to worry about is…" Not being left behind again. Proving herself. (Not waiting helpless in the dark.)

Goosebumps prickled along her arms, a chill reminder of the creeping magic at the skinners, but she shook it off. "Building up my strength." Physically _—_ not magically _—_ no need to think about its slippery crawling across her skin. A sigh fell out of her. "I should probably be running laps about the practice yard like the novices."

Another set of footsteps entered the hall. "It would not hurt." _Jaheira._ However neutral the Harper's agreement, it still felt like accusation of unfitness when none could disagree Sajantha had always been the least experienced, the least capable, of them all.

Spine stiff, 'twas hard to turn to greet her, but Sajantha gave a nod. As if holding to an indifferent expression hadn't been hard enough already, her stomach sank as she met the druid's eyes: it looked as if the woman wished to _talk._ And if she did, she would surely get her way.

 _'Nowhere to hide,'_ Sarevok reminded her.

A single firm gesture had Minsc and Yoshimo heading one way and Sajantha the other; she fell into step behind the druid, who slowed to glance over her shoulder. "Enjoying your time with the Order members, then?"

But for the lack of actually accomplishing anything of note? If only one lesson could feel more productive! It would surely take days— _ten_ days—to see results. "Aye." For the most part. For all the parts that didn't make her feel worse.

After turning a corner, they were the only two standing in the side hall. Now it would come. Whatever it was. Apprehension knotted Sajantha's lower back.

"Do you believe Keldorn can be trusted? Given your… quest."

 _'Quest?'_ No, _that_ hadn't been the word Jaheira wanted, for it hovered unspoken between them, the truth only once voiced aloud. (But the rest of them had long suspected, hadn't they?) Sajantha's eyes squeezed shut.

But she couldn't hold onto any sort of resentment when the question brought to mind Keldorn's steadfast kindness wavering not at all in the face of her revelation. She gave a nod. "I've no doubt." Strange, to feel so absolutely certain for the first time without her magic there to confirm it. "We can trust him."

"I am glad to hear it. Without your magic, it would help to find the right path for you. You, more than many, must tread carefully."

 _'Carefully.'_ That word again. But the worst part was that she wasn't at all wrong.

"You think Keldorn will help me find my path?" Did such a thing even exist? _'You are your own choices,'_ he'd said, but when was the last time she'd had a choice in anything?

"If not he, then simply help in introducing you to new options. 'Tis an opportunity to expose yourself to skills, to vocations. To… gods."

Sajantha swallowed. Even _thinking_ Oghma's name made her skin itch and her belly twist as if she might dislodge it. A twisted mass of feelings wrapped her in knots of grief and wrath and pain if she dared to remember: _he'd_ abandoned _her,_ not the other way 'round. A betrayal, a hurt that went too deep for words and welled sorrow from the center of her.

Yet what good would a different deity do? There really wasn't much of a point, after all, when one already laid claim to her soul.

"Have you some problem with him?"

"Keldorn? No." But her pause had taken too long for Jaheira to quite believe her. Sajantha cleared her throat and tried again. "It's easy to talk to him. He's a good listener. A good _person."_ And just the thought of the wrinkles of his smiling eyes loosened her chest. A fine man in his own right, but, "I suppose he reminds me of… my father." As if the words needed saying, as if it couldn't be guessed.

But Jaheira's expression relaxed a bit at the admission. "I can see it. I do think Gorion would approve." A hint of a smile struggled onto her face. "Khalid, as well."

Sajantha glanced away. "You're not just saying this to make sure I'm out of the way?"

But Jaheira's astounded tone answered for her. "Out of the way of _what,_ exactly? None of this is aught you can hope to hide from." Her lips twisted. "I would never have had it so, but you are a part of this."

 _'Where do you think you are running to?'_ Irenicus's voice lingered in the air, overlaid with Sarevok's mocking laughter, and Sajantha rubbed at her ears as if they would go quiet, as if this was a sound outside her head and not already invading it.

 _'A part of this.'_ And they wanted her to be a part of the Order, too? Sajantha scuffed the grimy tile with her shoe. "Won't I be bothering them? They've surely quite important things to see to." Especially after what they'd endured recently!

" 'Twas Keldorn himself requested your presence. Whatever such tasks as he has, he wishes your aid."

"Me?" 'Twas Sajantha's turn to be taken aback. More of the tightness in her chest eased, enough that she could take in a deep breath.

"You," Jaheira agreed.

"Oh." Her hand went to her mouth. "Really?" At the druid's nod, a glowing warmth unfurled inside her, a frail feeling that hadn't been indulged since Edwin had agreed to accompany them.

 _Hope._

* * *

Yoshimo and Minsc had left the main hall when she returned to it, but it wasn't empty.

A red-robed figure had claimed the couch. Would anyone else have dared to? One long leg crossed in an 'L' over the other, which would assuredly reveal shapely dark boots if she should allow her gaze to settle upon them. Not that she'd any reason to do so.

As if in agreement, the leg joined its partner on the floor as Edwin straightened, having spotted her. The gaze that ran over her almost looked _pleased,_ but that couldn't be right, could it? Yet… he'd been the one to arrange the armor, hadn't he? Pleased, indeed—with him _self,_ no doubt!—but his eyes narrowed as his gaze lifted. "Your hair. What have you done with your hair?"

Her hair? Who cared about her hair!—especially with so much else to worry over—yet heat flushed through her face. What was wrong with it now?

Sajantha ran her fingers through to smooth it back. A trifle damp from her earlier bath, but perhaps it appeared still oily. But why should it matter! "I thought we were past that. You've not given up teasing me over it?"

"A Red Wizard does not 'tease.' " His expression hovered somewhere between incredulous and insulted.

"Making fun, then. Or do Red Wizards have naught to do with 'fun' either?"

That tipped the scale to 'insulted.' "Red Wizards do not have patience for such impudence!" Yet he followed it up with nothing rude or dismissive—nor aught at all!—as if it had simply been reflex, and he was resigned to examining her a moment more. "Your hair is… sufficient, that is all. You appear presentable enough now that few should dismiss you on sight."

Did that deserve a laugh or a sigh? "Wow, Edwin. You really oughtn't so strain yourself with compliments."

"It is most taxing," he agreed, with enough dourness to rather doubt it.

She smiled and lowered herself to the empty seat.

He grumbled a bit more, shifting away, but 'twas only for the better angle to face her, and her heart jumped a moment to her throat as she scrambled for something to say with his focus so intently upon her.

"So. Jaheira said you were abed all morning? I hope you're feeling better."

"Oh?" One side of Edwin's mouth twitched, though whether 'twas a hint of a grin or a grimace was impossible to tell as he turned his head away. "I cannot imagine _that_ is what she said."

Just what was that supposed to mean? And the confusion must have sat with far too much obviousness upon her face, for now his expression could only be amused. As if he were laughing at her—was he?—gods damn it, her face was turning red again, wasn't it?

Sajantha frowned down at her gloves, picking at the fingers. "I thought you probably needed some sleep, at any rate. It couldn't be easy to ignore the Scroll so long as you did, so I thought maybe it had been keeping you up at night, if that's the only time you've had for it." Who could blame him for that, really.

He gave a shrug. "I have made do."

Mayhap he'd been getting as little sleep as she, though. Even if he'd be sitting at his desk working and not lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. Sajantha swallowed away the dryness in her mouth. "Do you… do you ever have trouble sleeping? Just staying awake, thinking about…" Whatever _did_ he think about? "In the dark, all by yourself."

"Not since I was a _child."_ He waved a dismissive hand, then shook his head at her. "Always needing others around, aren't you. I am sure one snoring bunkmate or another could be arranged if you are unable to grow out of it."

"That's…" Heat crept up the back of her neck. "That's not what I meant." _'Not since I was a child.'_ She cleared her throat. "How did you get past it?"

"There is nothing else for it: you must gather strength from your solitude, shape it into independence. Know that there will be no relief but what you create yourself."

When he'd said his parents had played no part in his childhood, and for all the times he'd told them, _'Red Wizards have no friends…'_ "Gods, Edwin… You must have been so lonely."

This time his expression was unmistakable as a sneer curled his lips. "And what would anyone have offered me? You cannot rely on anyone else to do anything for you. If you should come to depend upon them, they will only weaken you from finding your strength."

'Twas impossible to miss the tension that had straightened his back, though, that had widened the space between them; the extra inches dug in like miles. She hugged her arms to herself. Too hard, this was all far too hard on her own. "Maybe I'm already weak. I don't think I can keep going. Not alone."

"You can," the words sounded more a declaration—a _command—_ than an assurance, "but you have never had to before. Stop trying to attach yourself to these paladins whose sense of 'honor' will not allow them to turn you away! You think you can manipulate others into taking care of you? _You_ are the one who needs to take care of yourself—and the only one who should."

 _'Manipulating!'_ Her head shot up. "Is that really how you see me?"

"Someone who believes they are drowning will clutch at anything to stay afloat. But you are not drowning."

"It feels like it." So dark, so turbulent, so hard to breathe, to stay on her feet. "It feels just like I'm drowning."

"Yet you do not try to learn to swim? Focus on what you can do for your own self."

She bit down on her lip. Was that the only solution left to her? "Does that make it hurt less? Being alone?"

Edwin's eyes narrowed.

"I can't." She shook her head. "Mock me all you like, but I just don't work like that." What was the solution? If only being around other people could help keep the shadows at bay? 'Twas not as if she could demand company every night, not when Jaheira had so very carefully never offered to share a room with her. Who would want to suffer her nightmares secondhand?

 _No one._ The answer was as clear as the frustration on Edwin's face, as sharp as the (knives) sudden pain wrenching through her chest.

He rose, taking an entire step away as if the tears threatening her eyes somehow might threaten him as well. "There are potions which will aid your sleep. Drug yourself then, if you can face nothing."

 _"Edwin."_ The ache had seized her lungs, strangled her voice into a gasp. "Please don't—please don't walk away from me. I—I need help. I'm sorry I'm not like you. I can't do this by myself. Please."

He glanced around the hall, nostrils flaring, and glared at the corners as if they each offended him. "What is it you expect me to do?"

 _Anything anything anything._ "I don't know. I don't…" She took in a shaky breath. _Don't leave don't let him leave._ "Tell me a story." The words felt hollow, lacking Imoen's voice.

Had he taken a step forward? 'Twas difficult to focus on anything other than his gaze locked on hers.

Unfazed, Edwin approached the challenge as straightforwardly as he did any other: "There was a boy. A school empty of faces he knew. A room empty of all but a bed and a desk. He realized that his troubles meant naught to anyone but himself, and no one was going to come; no one was going to aid him. If he wished anything to be different, he must take care of it himself. He must take care of himself."

The ache squeezed harder, and heat flared up to her nose, her eyes.

Edwin's serious stare lessened for but a moment as he saw her face, "Wh—these are not tears?" He switched to a scowl. "Gods! Do not cry over a child who no longer exists. This is a tale of perseverance, not one of self-pity!"

"N-no." She blinked as discreetly as she could manage. "Why would I cry? Why would it be sad, thinking of you all by yourself with no one to turn to?"

"Do not read into this—!" His finger pointed with all the accusation he couldn't verbalize. "It is a straightforward story of recognizing the need for self-reliance. How do you not understand this? It is obvious: if you wish change, you are your own catalyst."

Lessons he had learned long ago. "How old were you? When they took you for training."

Edwin's shoulders lowered a bit, though his still-wide stance suggested he'd not quite calmed. "I was not 'taken.' " His chin lifted. " 'Twas a great honor to be selected, especially so young as I was." He stared at her, almost suspicious, as if trying to determine whether this too might backfire. "Five—nearly five."

Proud, so proud, that all her sympathy would feel like pity. She held her tongue, held in all the things that burst onto it, all the things that would only anger him. "It's hard for anyone that age to be able to understand something like 'honor.' I suppose you had to grow up rather fast."

"And you, only now. (A bit overdue, but better late than never.)" He paused a moment before returning to the seat beside her, a warmth just close enough to feel against her side.

She glanced down at her hands. "How many years' head-start do you have on me, do you suppose?" She peeked up only to see him shaking his head.

"You…" A hand briefly rose to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat. "You will not give up on these contemptible attempts to uncover my age?"

"I've been told I'm very stubborn."

"Certainly none would accuse you of being subtle. (There is no reason for this to be amusing.)"

"But you're smiling." If only a little: 'twas enough to bid an answering one within her; she smiled back. "Thank you. For telling me that. I'm sorry I can't be more like you." How much simpler would everything seem, if she were so equipped as he to handle it?

One shoulder raised in a shrug. "There is much which is just becoming known to you. This is not something to apologize for, unless you continue to ignore the truth once aware."

"I think you're starting to make a lot of sense to me."

"Good."

"You, I mean. Not just your words."

He went quite still. Quite quiet, too, as if he couldn't decide whether he ought to feel threatened.

"That's still good," she assured him.

"Hn."

Best change the subject, before he decided he was offended. "I'll be staying with Keldorn. While you're all gone."

"I know." All business once more, Edwin crossed his arms. "Do not forget yourself around him. Who you are."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Who did he think she was?

He frowned. "That you are not a little girl who needs an armored nursemaid. That you are fully capable of taking care of yourself."

"You… you really believe I can?"

"It does not matter what I believe. You must believe in yourself; the opinions of others are irrelevant."

"Do you, though?"

"I believe you are capable of infinitely more than you give yourself credit for. Than you even imagine!" He leaned in. "Do you recall so little of what you've done? I have seen you perform the impossible—I have seen magic pouring from your fingers without form! How much more literal an example of potential do you require?"

Her ears surely burned. "Um. That's good. I guess."

He shook his head. "You 'guess.' " The note of wryness in his voice softened his bearing almost as much as did his loosened posture. "I suppose this is a start."

Could she hug him? Touch him? Something! But what if he… She gripped the edge of the seat. "Thank you."

He granted her a nod. So very formal!

"That's _awfully_ magnanimous of you."

"Good." Leaning back, he stretched his arms out along the back of the couch. "This is what I was aiming for." His mouth straightened, but almost as though he were trying to keep a smile flat.

So serious, even if something like a smirk lurked about him. What would he do if she should lean beneath his raised arm and curl up against him? Stare at her in bafflement? How quickly would he pull away?

"Why do you look at me like this?"

Wh-what did she look like? His words had set her face afire, so _that_ surely couldn't go unnoticed; she jumped up before he could see any closer. "Like what?" Casual, keep her voice casual.

"I do not know; this is why I asked." He sat forward, tilting his head up at her. "You are running again."

Her heart might have missed a beat when he rose to stand before her, _certainly_ did when his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I tell you, Sajantha: I will not coddle you. Only you can decide to rise to your potential. Irenicus did not know what he was doing with you: it has always been _your_ choice."

* * *

=E=

"Whew!" Raviwr floated down to rest upon his shoulder. "That was a close one, Master."

"I do not require your input, you useless pest. (Nor your toes digging into my neck.)"

His familiar shifted a bit, but this only prompted a wing to catch against the back of Edwin's head. "Bumpy start, but you's did okay."

"Did you hear me not? Silence yourself." 'Okay.' _Okay?_ Edwin Odesseiron did nothing 'okay.' As if he could not excel at whatever he deemed worthy of effort!

The imp let out a little giggle. "No run away!"

"I am perfectly capable of carrying a conversation without 'running away!' " Bah!

"No making _her_ run away?" The despicable little creature grinned. "You no make her cry, either! Yes, yes. Good-good."

Edwin straightened his hood. "None of this requires your approval, imp."

But in the next moment, a mild warning infused their bond, doing what no amount of Edwin's reprimands could: the creature's amusement had vanished.

Fists tight, Edwin turned.

A tall armored figure blocked the hall. Angry, perhaps, but not yet hostile—and the paladin had thus far been able to restrain himself, whatever his feelings—so no reason for Edwin's own pulse to pound as if for battle, no reason to take stock of his wands and charms and gauge the space between them. (Four paces or one lunge, if that great sword should be drawn.)

"I had wondered what intentions a man such as you could have."

One pace back would allow an extra second of reaction time. Edwin placed his hands on his hips where they could hover ready: the wand of lightning easily reached at his left, and the spell-pouch of mercury and phosphorous at his right. Oh, his charges and contingencies would all be ready _today;_ no meager silence spell would catch him off-guard. "Excuse me?"

The paladin—fortunately for him!—moved no closer; he waited with disapproval wearing a deeper groove upon his weathered face. Just what did he want? If he wished to be introduced to Edwin's arsenal, the components remained more than ready. "With Sajantha. The descendant of a god."

The words did as little to assuage the tension as did the paladin's glower, still seeped in suspicion. _'God.'_ She had at last admitted such—the truth she could not stomach facing around anyone else—and had borne her soul to a _paladin?_

"You are so concerned with her safety?" Edwin's fingers flexed. "If you truly care about her, you would do best to retreat."

The old man swelled to fill up his armor. Would it take the precision of a needle or the full swipe of a sword to deflate him? Either way, he'd not be able to prepare for what the future held in store.

"If Sajantha had the luxury of being the daughter of such a fine, upstanding _gentleman_ as yourself, no doubt your coddling would be appreciated. But she is not. She is the daughter of death—her blood is of the gods—and such indulgence serves only to weaken her." How much progress would be undone, leaving her with the sanctimonious lout for even a tenday?

"You would have her aspire to a throne of blood and ruin?"

"I would keep her alive, Tormite, by showing her the strength to stand on her own two feet, and not being the crutch that keeps her steady."

"She needs support."

"She needs _strength."_

"They need not be mutually exclusive."

"Be that as it may, but—if you do not heed me—then we two will be."

The paladin crossed his arms. "If it ever comes down to a choice between the two of us, then know that good will triumph."

'Good,' pfeh. The self-righteous claptrap of all holier-than-thou types who could expand their vocabulary no further than their black-and-white box of the world. "You are so sure she will choose you, then?"

"There is no doubt in me."

Such smugness. Such ignorance! He knew her not. Edwin bared his teeth in a smile. "That is exactly why you are wrong. The difference, my dear paladin, is that Sajantha values my skills, whereas you: she values your life. Which do you suppose she will risk in her endeavor? You will not be going with us." He gave his head a shake as he half-turned away (enough to dismiss the lout without sacrificing awareness of his proximity). "Protest if you must, but she is still so weak as to heed her heart, and—so long as you are in it—she will not risk losing you. There is no room for you here; you just haven't realized it yet."

Trusting one's life to others was the surest way to lose it, and Sajantha was at risk so long as she remained this way, without choice.

Paladins were idiots. This one would doubtless find some grand manner in which to throw away his own life, as if impalement at the end of some 'evil-doer's' sword-point might be worth more glory than a throat slit in a back alley.

Dead was dead.

A lesson Sajantha may have taken her time to learn, but not one she would forget.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Thanks to Kyn again for proofing! And thank you my lovely reviewers; you keep me going. :)_

 _I was going to mention this in the next section, but since I had to split it I shall drop it in here as well —_

 _{spydrouge dot deviantart dot com/art/Aknowledgement-Part-I-518381226} = an awesome scene Kyn imagined of when Edwin sees Sajantha's scars! :O WHAT WILL HAPPEN DUN DUN DUN_


	22. Scars

=S=

Balancing her plate, Sajantha approached the group's corner table. Yoshimo's head bent in a welcoming nod, and Jaheira's may have bobbed a bit, yet the druid continued to exercise her jaw in unnecessarily powerful clenched bites. Or perhaps the potato really was so tough to chew as that.

Whatever Edwin was reading seemed to hold his attention, so he couldn't contest her claiming the spot beside him. Even if her chair leg scootched against his boot a tad as she settled in. Well, 'twas his own fault for arranging his feet so, with his back against the wall! The urge to insist he sit properly battled with the knowledge that he wouldn't find the suggestion anywhere as amusing as did she, so she settled for mock-frowning back as the predictable frown rose to his lips. At least she'd made him look up from his book!

And for a brief satisfying moment, Edwin's expression flickered, as if he couldn't decide what face to wear, or was too surprised to keep hold of his frown. So he'd need to glare next.

Sajantha narrowed her eyes in preparation, near-perfectly mirroring him, and this time he truly _might_ be mad, though with a clatter of rattled ceramics, their missing giant saved them from a stand-off as he seized the last seat.

Minsc took up the entire head of the table, where he hefted out a joyful sigh before digging in. With those wide shoulders, he served admirably as a barrier to protect their little nook. _Cozy._

She daren't yet look back at Edwin on her other side, though he'd surely transferred his glare to his book, however her neck now tickled.

Across them, Jaheira and Yoshimo were busy with their meals, and Sajantha glanced down at her own plate. Highbite at the Order—a pot meal of pasta, cucumber, and something red and delightfully spicy—had kept her full for hours, but she ought to try to eat. Whatever this was.

A dismally-colored supper stared back at her: a potato and some green-brown vegetables. Nothing terribly intimidating, for all its lack of vibrancy. She scooped a forkful before looking around the table. This would be the last night they'd be together for awhile, wouldn't it?

Yet traveling hardly held any allure, when all that came to mind was mile after mile of trekking; her still-sore legs twinged a fatigued reminder. The only enjoyable parts had been the few spare moments between setting up camp, sleeping, then taking it down again. Besides, she'd be of far more use here, where she could assist Keldorn and continue training with he and Anomen. Who was almost as fun to tease as Edwin. She pressed her toe-tips against the ground so they wouldn't be tempted to poke at his boot.

"Is it a very large town you're going to?" It seemed so long ago since they'd passed through the small villages Edwin had so disdained. Even more than he disdained everywhere-else-that-was-not-Thay.

Was it safe to look at him yet? Her heart drummed a beat—might she have truly offended him?—but Edwin steadfastly ignored them for his book. Notes for the Scroll? Every few pages he would frown a bit and scribble ferociously.

"I am unsure; I have not traveled much of Amn outside this city," Yoshimo admitted, and Sajantha jerked her focus back. To the question _she'd_ asked, oops. " 'Trademeet' does sound as if it is prosperous, though, no?"

Prosperous? Welcome news at last! If the town could indeed afford to reward its rescuers, 'twould surely be worth the extra days it cost them.

Sajantha smiled to herself, chewing through an oily bite of asparagus. "What is it that's going on exactly?"

"Animals!" Minsc's fork scooped through the air. "Wild and angry and attacking the poor townsfolk. Oh, what troubles! We must save the town, and the poor animals too."

"Ah, but what is _causing_ the animal attacks?" Yoshimo tilted his head towards Jaheira. "Does our resident druid have any ideas?"

Jaheira speared a piece of potato. "I will let you know once we arrive."

Minsc cuddled his familiar up against his face. "You do not think this rage will infect hamsters, do you? Boo is ferocious enough already!"

"One berserker is enough for the both of you," Yoshimo agreed. "I am sure Boo will keep a clear head."

"He always does." Minsc was appeased.

"Well, you probably won't have to crawl about any dark dungeons or sewers or mines at least, hm?" Her foot gave Edwin's the tiniest nudge.

He didn't look up from his notebook, drawing a slash of a line as he shook his head. "Please do not attempt to placate me. There are any number of terrains equally as arduous (if not as fragrant) we may be forced to endure."

She slid out of her chair. "I'm going to get a glass of water. Would you like anything?" He'd brought only his reading, not a drink nor meal. Was he planning on dining in private later? Or once the common room had cleared? Or perhaps he'd already supped alone.

At last glancing up, Edwin gave her an odd look and set down his pen. "As the bartender has nothing available of any quality, no."

* * *

=E=

Edwin scanned once more through his notebook with the list of all the tasks needing seeing to; it had lengthened far faster than he'd been able to cross much off.

With the (almost predictable) unpredictable chaos in her wake, the appointment to see this priestess of Lathander had gone unmade. Sajantha's magic was a fickle thing, so one would almost presume the problem could _only_ be internal, for what external order would she have submitted to? But this scarring was an angle that could not remain overlooked. Experts needed be consulted, and if she would not trust _him…_

"You believe she should be seen by the priesthood?" Jaheira looked inclined to disagree simply on principle, but then she let out a sigh. "Certainly it could not hurt."

Yet her acquiescence hardly brought a feeling of triumph when accompanied with the druid's pained expression: for _she_ had already seen these marks. Edwin's grasp tightened on his book. This could not be tolerated—the Harper knew what he did not!—and he would have answers.

"Who should accompany her?" Jaheira glanced between them. But her gaze lingered on the rogue. "Would you—"

Edwin set down his book loudly enough to reclaim their attention. "I will take her." Still this suspicion! Did they think this shared glance would go unnoticed? "I do not trust these priests any more than you do I." Though no reports thus far indicated the selected candidate to be unreliable, 'twas folly to forgo precautions. _"I will be present."_

The druid's eyes turned cold, and her voice along with them: "You will be present wherever she is comfortable having you." Her attention switched then to Sajantha, who had returned with a drink. "Whom would you like to accompany you to Lathander's temple?"

"Oh." Sajantha glanced between them, tucking back a lock of hair; for once the strands stayed smooth enough to obey, revealing a pointed ear. "It was Edwin's idea, after all. He can come along, if he doesn't mind waiting outside."

 _'Outside,'_ pfeh. A small enough victory. "As you like."

"Fine." The druid stood. "There is much else that needs to be done before we leave. Have you any supplies we can pick up for you?"

"I am perfectly capable of managing mine own supplies." Did they all presume him so incompetent as to be unable to look after his own needs?

"Of course. Yoshimo, take the rest of the day. We'll be at the city gates an hour before mornbright—be ready."

"As you say, Mistress Jaheira! Shall I be managing the fun for you as well? I think it is _you_ who deserves the night off. Come, let us at least split these tasks of yours that we might both enjoy some free time."

"I… thank you, Yoshimo."

Edwin tried not to scowl. An _hour_ before mornbright? So his evening was to be sacrificed as well, if he must retire early enough to compensate. Well. The Nether Scroll would await upon the road. Yes, it could wait: the Scroll had been buried at least a thousand years. Sajantha, however… she was far too volatile a component to neglect overlong.

Speaking of this—where was she? The entire table had vacated! Run off again, had she?

A glare itched at his brow, but he would not look to the imp for confirmation: nothing he'd said should have caused this; he was _not_ responsible for—

Someone flew towards him—far too quick for comfort—Edwin had tensed even as the figure became recognizable, if not for the bound blonde hair, then for the surety (and undisciplined momentum) with which she reclaimed her seat beside him. (Surely her shoulder would have careened against his had he not turned to face her!)

"Here—I almost forgot." Ah, whatever Sajantha had in her hands must explain the abruptness of her departure. "Everyone else got theirs already."

The… piece of fruit?... she held outstretched did little to illuminate her urgency. Red and gold interwove patterns upon its surface, marred by darker spots. A tainted specimen she wished analyzed? But, no: the look upon her face was nearly proud, though her certainty faded the longer he examined it.

"Sorry, it's been bumped around a bit. But they're only bruises; it's not as if it's rotten or anything. Or poisonous," she added.

"Hmph." As if she would be able to tell! (Best make a note to acquire another detection charm for her.)

"You needn't eat it right now or anything; I thought you'd prefer it private anyway."

 _'In private?'_ Just what in the Hells' significance was this…?

"You know, on account of, um, all the juice. I mean, it would probably get in your beard, and…" Sajantha trailed off, a blush rising to her cheeks as if only just realizing how ill-suited an offering it was. Whatever had prompted her to suggest it?

He squinted at the strange bruised fruit, yet it stubbornly failed to divulge any information, such as whyever this—

With a burst of smoke and a gleeful cackle, an imp flashed by before it vanished from sight. Along with the fruit. _Stupid creature._

But Sajantha had loosed a smile before Edwin could loose a growl, unperturbed by the devil's audacity. "At least _some_ one wanted it. Sorry," but the way her head was turned made it clear she spoke to his familiar, not he (even if she'd entirely gotten the angle wrong), "I ought to have brought one for each of you."

Edwin tried to swallow back his irritation. "Outsiders do not require physical sustenance."

"There's quite the difference between 'requiring' something and _enjoying_ it, you know."

Ah. Such a view might explain her penchant for bestowing gifts which lacked all utility (had he done something to encourage this?), yet there was no more time to waste exploring her peculiar thought processes. "Let us depart."

* * *

=S=

The temple was strangely grim for the Lord of the Dawn: the rich brown tiles reflected light but a little, and the golden rays emerging from the base of the stone statue centerpiece looked like nothing so much as pointed spikes being swallowed by the dark floor.

Edwin was the brightest thing in the hall.

Sajantha stepped closer to him, her steps muffled by the ringing in her ears. "I changed my mind. I—I don't think this is a good idea."

 _Dark._ Why was it so dark? The back of the great hall was carved with stylistic symbols in gold plate, lit with but a low glow. Perhaps it was brighter at the beginning of the day?

Edwin's hand came up to her back. Probably because she had come to a halt in the middle of the walkway.

Looming above them, the statue held a spinning orb outstretched to the high ceiling, reflections shining free of it in a dizzy spiral, along with a strange humming noise louder than the distant voices, lifted somewhere between chant and song. The deep thrum of faraway bells and higher-pitched tinkling ones vibrated through her ears.

"I don't want to be here."

"It is this temple or another. Should you like to pay Talos a visit, perhaps?"

No. No. _Nobody._

"Have you changed your mind about my examining you, then?"

 _'Examine.'_ That word again. "No," she whispered.

Footsteps.

No hand rested on her back any longer: Edwin's arms had fallen to his sides. Or to his spell-pouches.

Sajantha didn't look back at him, instead taking in the golden-gowned figure who glided towards them, calm and sedate where Sajantha felt frazzled and jumpy. Despite the smile painted on her face, the woman was too severe to be welcoming—like a statue come to life—like she might better belong among the Watcher's overseeing eyes at the temple next door.

Sajantha dared a glimpse at Edwin then, but he looked unperturbed. _As usual!_ She took in a deep breath and ordered her nerves to settle.

"I am Dawnmaster Anara. This is the petitioner?" The priestess's attention lingered on Edwin a trifle longer than was courteous. Lathander was but one of the many enemies of Thay. "Come." With her feet hidden beneath the waves of fabric, it looked as if she might float above the floor rather than step upon it: that gliding gait took her down a narrow hall.

Sajantha swallowed. _Don't look back at him. Don't be such a coward._ Edwin hadn't laughed nor said anything rude but surely he'd think she was being foolish if she lingered any longer.

Out of sight of the main area, the side room was furnished with elegant deep wood and glowing lamps, but the smooth polished floor and pristine air had a coldness to them.

"You may disrobe." The priestess shut the door. "It is alright, child. You are safe here."

Safe. _Safe safe safe._ So why did it feel like a lie, like a chill all across her skin that only deepened as she removed her cloak, her blades, her gloves. Her vest.

There hadn't been so much done to her lower body, so no need to take off her boots, her skirt.

But… her _shirt._ Sajantha's hands trembled as she tugged it off, and for one blessed moment she could hide wholly inside it before the cold air settled over her bare skin. She folded it carefully before turning to face the woman.

The priestess kept her face remarkably composed, just a slight tightening of her mouth and eyes as she took in the scarring, her gaze sweeping from Sajantha's neck down to her waist. It didn't look as bad as it _had_ (however little she could look at it), but at least the red lines tracing the veins through her arm were a dull pink, just dark enough to remain visible. That much she could see on accident, what her sleeves didn't cover. Her chest… she could only see if she looked down. Or in a mirror. And why would she want to do that?

"It is too late to do much for these in the way of standard healing spells. Though there are some rituals to restore youthful smoothness upon the supplicant. Many nobles here can attest to its success—if they would admit it." The Dawnmaster smiled.

Nobles? A hefty fee, then. "It doesn't matter." Even for that sick stomach-dropping jolt any time they caught the corner of her eye, punishment as if she might have dared for but a moment to forget them (him).

"You're certain? You should really think about it. You don't want to carry those around for the rest of your life, do you?"

The rest of her life. Who knew how the Hells long that would be? "Are you a cleric of Lathander or Sune?" She pushed the words out through clenched teeth: _"It doesn't matter."_ They would stay covered up. But for the briefest glimpses as she changed clothes, 'twas not as if anyone actually had to look at them. _'…your skinny, undernourished body…'_

Sajantha crossed her arms over her chest, a stab of heat behind her eyes.

"I apologize. I had assumed you… and your patron... wished this addressed."

Gods. What had Edwin _said?_ The heat on her face grew even as the rest of her chilled. "No. Let's just get this over with." Must it all be discussed whilst she stood here half-naked? "We're only trying to find out why I can't cast magic. There's some blockage of… energy. Can you detect anything?" Something was wrong with her, something far too deep to fix. This wouldn't work. Why had she come; what could this possibly prove?

"Lie down." The priestess gestured to the backless couch, even more narrow than the Coronet's small beds.

Lathander, of light and life—Bhaal, of murder and _death—_ and what was she doing here? She should leave. _She should leave._ Talos would have better understood. The Destroyer. The Raging One.

Either the couch was too rigid or her spine was; she couldn't get comfortable. Her chest rose and fell too fast (don't look at it) as she stared up at the ceiling.

The woman murmured words in prayer, hands traveling through the air, pulling threads of silver light into being. "There is much negative energy about you. I sense nothing of purpose, though, nothing clear enough to be called a curse… it is almost as if there is some manner of focal, but nothing defined…"

Only a few minutes, probably, but they stretched like hours as the priestess muttered spells, one after another with no results, and Sajantha's skin crawled, right between her shoulder-blades, an itching a twitching a nagging that needed her to _move._

"Ah," the priestess leaned forward, "a divine link…?" Her eyes (blue) stared out amidst the flashes of spellwork, the glittering haze of sparks. "I cannot see…" she squinted, "there is a shadow…"

Face stiff with concentration (like a mask), she stepped closer (loomed over).

 _Stood over her stared down at her lifted the knife—_

Stupid. Stupid. No. There was no knife. No knife. But Sajantha was on her back and she was exposed and the air was cold and goosebumps crept across her and a shadow fell over her—

But—in her hand—

The priestess lifted her hand _what was in her hand_ —

* * *

=E=

Edwin tucked his notebook back within his robes. Perhaps a trifle preemptively, but at least _something_ more on the list had been crossed off, allowing him to focus on the obnoxious imp fluttering about.

"I told you to leave her alone, Raviwr." His familiar's silent sulking was as obnoxious as a vocal whine would be. "There is no need to spy upon her."

She would be safe enough within the temple; the shadow guardian had been re-summoned once they'd passed beneath the place's wardings, and his earlier reconnaissance had affirmed the priestess's credentials. Indeed, this was far more secure a location than that loathsome excuse for an inn. If far less lively a one.

Edwin's knuckles drummed against the bench beside him.

The droning dullness of voices 'singing' in a distant room sounded as bored as he. One would have supposed followers of Lathander to be more energetic with their devotions; this was the sort of half-hearted—

A scream pierced through the chorus.

The sound jolted him to his feet, and he was already moving before the panicked cry had time to fade, before the thought had fully formed: _Sajantha. In trouble._

The hall—they'd disappeared down this side hall—and Edwin's legs had no trouble speeding him as he readied a spell with Raviwr close at his side.

The door—was it locked? No time to check. Fire came to his fingers far faster than an unlocking incantation.

 _'Tarrasque.'_ Sajantha's earlier reprimand gave him pause (indeed, if the priestess stood too close to her, best not risk a fatal spell), and Edwin switched spells as the door blasted open.

His fingers closed around the slender iron focus in his pouch.

The woman stood with a wand outstretched to the figure below her, the figure who curled over, clutching her head—

 _"Zexenuma."_ The spell flew through his clenched teeth and struck the woman with force enough to drive the wand from her hands; it clattered to the floor.

The priestess remained standing. Frozen in place, now irrelevant. So: _Sajantha._ The utter panic in her cry indicated something serious. How badly had she been damaged?

In a moment more he'd closed the distance, attempting to tug her hands free of her hair—was she holding a wound? but no dampness of blood met his touch—and her fingers immediately fixed onto his robes instead.

"Where are you injured?" He helped her sit up—difficult, with her attached to him as a barnacle!—and that insistent grip of hers nearly pulled him off-balance. "What has she done to you?"

"N-no—she didn't. I—I just—" Sajantha cringed and sagged against his hold, her back smoothly slipping beneath his hand. Her… naked back.

She did not cover herself, just kept her gaze on his as if in challenge, as if daring him to look down, look down to where the discoloration of her chest (her side, her stomach) was clear even in peripheral vision. No solid lines, not like the marks at her collar: no symbols, no design to them, no art nor form. No meaning. A closer examination would reveal only details extraneous; their purpose was no clearer.

It mattered not.

 _'Hurt me,'_ she'd said of the mage, _'All he wanted was to hurt me.'_ The markings did not appear to disagree _._

Taut with tension, the muscles beneath his palm seemed to tremble. "Can I have my shirt back?" Her voice was small.

He broke their gaze only as he rose and turned away, walking with hands clenched to stand before the door, which Raviwr had closed (as much as its damaged hinges would allow).

Marks of violence, little more. The same mindless destruction that propelled Mae'Var's methods? A brutal pattern without rhyme or reason… perhaps this Irenicus was a servant of Loviatar? _Three months._ No. There would have been nothing left of her. _Intentional, something intentional._ This was how the mage had thought to grasp her power? To force her to kill… 'twould not have been easy.

Cloth rustled behind him. He did not turn around 'til her shadow reached his side.

Sajantha's hair was disheveled, her shirt crooked, both begging straightening. Her too-serious gaze drifted to the still figure beside them. "You'd best unfreeze her."

"Why, does she have aught of use to say?"

Sajantha hesitated, as good as affirming the woman was useless, yet reluctant to admit it. "She hadn't found anything, but—"

"Pfeh." He waved the words off, hand sweeping to gesture her to the door with him. "Their faith is worthless if they cannot even pray her free. Another will release her eventually."

His hand brushed her back (safe beneath her sturdy vest now) as she came to a stop, and she looked up with that familiar stubborn glint in her eye. "And she'll remember 'twas the Red Wizard left her so. You're not so hard to miss, you know. It's not as if anyone who met you might ever forget you."

 _Hmph._ There were indeed few Thayans about Athkatla, an otherwise fortuitous thing. With a sigh and a wave of his hand, Edwin released the spell, and the priestess stumbled forward.

"It's alright!" Sajantha stepped between them, palms out. "He's very sorry. He thought I was in trouble."

"('Very' is a stretch—)"

Sajantha turned about—only to give his arm a light smack. _What—!_ That earlier instance (a kick to his face!) had been ignored for its apparent inadvertence, but outright landing blows upon his person? This… surely this could not be permitted. What if it had activated his stoneskin!

 _"Excuse_ me, waif of the pint-size pummeling, but you are very liberal with this aggression upon me, I notice. As if you esteem yourself beyond expectation of retribution."

"Why, have you some reprimand in mind?" With that cheekily raised eyebrow, there was no sign her composure had ever been missing.

"A Red Wizard does not divulge the details of his inner workings." He straightened his sleeves. _Of course_ the wretched priestess had to witness this. "(Yes, I will think of something suitable.)" No, this should not be permissible at all.

The priestess's own composure had taken its time to return, but she seemed to summon it up well enough with her frown. "I expect this visit will be recompensed."

What gall—just how much must be tolerated this day! Surely he had misheard. Edwin narrowed his eyes. "You aided us not."

"There is the matter of the door," her gaze drifted towards its crooked frame, "and I don't know how the Cowled Wizards would feel hearing about an arcane attack upon one of the faith…"

 _Bah!_ Did everyone in this blasted city get by on bribes? Edwin reached her in a few strides, and dropped his voice to a growl. "How much do you require? Know that above a certain amount, I will find it a far better investment to dispose of witnesses."

"Th-three-hundred gold?" She'd taken a satisfying step back. "That's what the divinations normally cost."

"Fine." _Easy enough._ With a prod through the bond, Raviwr reappeared. "I expect I will not hear about this again." The imp would deal with the payment; Edwin turned back to Sajantha. "Let us leave."

The cool air of the canals greeted them outside with a breeze most welcome after the stuffy temple. Dusk had already settled in, and only torchlight lit the buildings (of course these primitives failed to acknowledge the efficiency of arcane lighting), enough to strikingly reflect in the black waters around them, for they pulled away Sajantha's attention.

Despite the uncomfortably warm weather here, she'd worn a high-necked long-sleeved shirt under her vest (that clearly left not the slightest sign of the injuries beneath).

She'd caught his gaze drifting down, and her fingers rose to her collar. "If you think they're bad now, you should have seen them before the skinners."

 _The necromancers._ "What did they do to you?"

"You didn't ask then. Why now?"

They had repaired so much damage? To what end? "It is curious."

"Awful, too. It was that." With a shake of her head, she began to walk. "Thanks for not looking. I know you wanted to."

He matched his steps to hers. "I wished to make sense of it, that is all. It appears there is little sense to be had."

"Sometimes…" She gathered her arms to herself. "Sometimes he just got impatient." Her gaze flickered to his. "Are you going to picture them whenever you look at me now?"

"Am I going to picture you unclothed each time I look upon you?" He raised his eyebrows. "Just how much of your nosiness must I suffer! I do not believe this is any of your business."

It had been some time since she'd last laughed like that.

* * *

=S=

They'd not found any answers—perhaps they'd even gained more questions—but her steps felt lighter as they walked through the Coronet's halls. Somehow, even after the splendor of the temple district, the dingy inn didn't feel so very dreadful, even after Edwin departed down his own hall and took so much color with him.

Sajantha missed a step—then another, her arms windmilling—she half-slid, half-fell, against the couch. No, the _bench._ She sucked in a gasp as the hard edges left what would surely be a bruise upon her thigh. Of course the transmutation had finally expired!

She sent a scowl to the floor and the smeared puddle of… ale? upon it before straightening with a wince. Probably as close to a washing as the wood would get around here! But the streaks following her feet weren't the only marks through the dirt and dust: lines from the chair-legs had left their own trails.

Sajantha frowned. Had she hit it so hard as to push it? Only, no, the lines weren't going the right way… yet the bench had clearly been moved.

Her heart missed a beat as realization struck: _the healing potion!_ Was it still there?

She sank to her knees and scraped her hand along the dusty floor, ending up with only a grimy gray palm for her trouble. _No potion._ She stared at the floorboards an extra moment, her heart sinking heavily enough to keep her weight on her heels.

Had someone stolen it? Or… might one of her friends have used it? And which would be the worse? Zaviera had been acting so strangely this morning. She'd been _scared._

Sajantha rose and brushed off her knees, though the mess on her hand stubbornly stuck.

The rooms in the back hall were the ones with the most traffic, not the regular guests, but the ones who were just there for… for the hour. Overlooking the area, the madam stood looking even more watchful than any of the armored guards around.

Sajantha fought with the sticky soles of her boots to step forward. "Might I speak with Zaviera? It'll only be a moment." Just enough to make sure she was alright.

A penciled-in eyebrow rose. "She is not accepting clients at this time."

"What's wrong? Is Lacey—"

The woman's cloak of congeniality vanished, and impatience lit a fire in otherwise cold eyes. "I am a peddler of services, girl, not of information. If you do not wish to make a transaction, I must ask you to make room for those who do." She waved a bejeweled hand in clear dismissal.

 _No help here._ Biting hard on her lip, Sajantha turned around only to find a customer already approaching. Approaching the _madam,_ surely, so why was he looking at _her?_

And why did he appear familiar…? _Oh._ Without his jeering friends, it took a moment to place him, the rotten lout who'd bothered her by the entrance whenever he caught her alone. A _slurker,_ Imoen would call him, the sort of man who found his courage in alcohol, enough to make himself a nuisance.

His mouth slowly widened to a grin as he stepped closer. _Too_ close: she'd not moved away fast enough. "Little birdie told me ye're looking for some coin, that right?" His teeth held his curling tongue between them, but nothing held back his gaze as he let it rove across her.

The tone of his voice, if not his leer, had warned her what to answer, but tension squeezed through her chest and made it difficult to push the word out with enough force: "No." Hands at her sides, keep her hands at her sides (by her blades), though they only wanted to rise as if they might cover her.

He only chuckled, with a hot breath of sour spirits that roiled her stomach, as he gave his coin-purse a jingle. "Could be I'd make you an offer you can't refuse…" His tongue flicked out, slower than a snake's, but too fast to wet his lips.

He wasn't threatening her—didn't even hold a _weapon_ —yet some unanchored fear swam loose inside her and left her mouth dry. Maybe his eyes were the weapon, stripping her down, leaving her feeling dirty and exposed and far more naked than she'd even just been in the temple with Edwin.

 _Edwin._

This man surely couldn't tell how tightly her insides quivered to make even her skin shiver, and she wouldn't let it show; Sajantha tilted her chin up—why must everyone be so much _taller_ than her?—and summoned her best glare. "I shan't have any problem refusing, I assure you."

She walked past him with her hands clenched (one on her hilt), and didn't let out her breath 'til she'd made it out of range of his crawling gaze and was ensconced in her room.

She leaned back against the (locked) door with a shudder. Safe enough in here, yet no relief arrived to disperse her tension.

Because… who was she diverting his attentions to instead; who would take her place? Might Lacey not be left with him? Or… or anyone, honestly, any of the other girls. He wasn't even remotely respectful in public, so how deplorable might he be when no one was about to intervene?

 _'It would be nice, knowing it was there,'_ Lacey had said, almost shyly. The potion. The potion that _wasn't_ there, not any longer.

Sajantha took shaky steps forward 'til she could collapse into bed, not in time to remember the paltry cushioning which awaited her 'til they collided. _Ouch._ The bed squeaked as if sharing her pain.

But with heavy limbs and heavier heart, 'twas difficult to move.

 _"You said you'd do anything to help me,"_ Imoen whispered.

Anything.

Sajantha rolled over, but no position was any more comfortable when the sound of Imoen's voice and jangling coins crept inside her ears. Was _this_ the line she would not cross? _Why?_ Unlike so much else that was asked of her, it couldn't be beyond her ability.

And what did it matter, really, when it was just a physical thing? Imoen had said it hurt at first, yet hurting was hardly something new; it couldn't be worse than anything else which had been done to her. _Right?_

Unbidden, her fingers had traced down her chest and hovered above her navel (where the scar ended), and she suppressed a violent shudder that clenched through her stomach. Not the same, no, nowhere near so awful as whatever Imoen went through now, so why allow even the thought of it to fill her with such revulsion?

Lacey was a good person and so was Zaviera; did it not mean she must think herself above them if she refused that offer when they had many such each day?

Why, what was so special about _her,_ really; she hadn't the skills to sell in mercenary services like the others, but that didn't mean she couldn't contribute when she could at least sell her body.

The burning behind her nose had spread to her eyes, and even to her mouth as a sick taste filled it. What would the others say if they found out? They'd all be horrified, likely as disturbed as even _considering_ it felt.

Though Edwin didn't get horrified. Hardly anything got to him at all! So… just what might he think? If he indeed thought _anything,_ for he may well be indifferent. Or might it disgust him? Though perhaps he'd ask her why she hadn't thought of it sooner. Or suggest richer clientele, as he'd know how to maximize profit, input for output.

Yet…

 _'You could be so much more.'_

 _He wouldn't want her to._ The sudden certainty of it filled her up, and for one warm and glowing moment all she could see was the way he'd looked at her as his hand rested on her back, staring at her like her scars didn't exist, like maybe nothing else existed.

She flipped over to bury her face in the pillow; it smudged off her tears, and her breath flew free in something between a sob and a laugh.

Maybe… maybe sometime in the future. If she had to. But no need to think about it, not right now.

Imoen was silent.

* * *

=E=

To suffer this ungodly hour with the sun barely up was bad enough, and then wait about while the others dragged out their farewells? _Pfeh._ Watching the city guards feign attentiveness (when all knew they'd allow anything with the right amount of coin slipped through) held Edwin's attention but barely. Yet 'twas far more preferable to focus on than the assuredly sentimental farewells of those around him. Did they have so little faith they would reunite in mere days?

Arms crossed, Edwin glanced back at the gathering. Just how long was such drivel expected to take?

"I will keep her from harm," the paladin assured them, "and try to keep her spirits lifted as well."

"I am sure you will do better than others who have made similar claims of protection." Jaheira slid her narrowed-eyed gaze to Edwin.

 _Insufferable wench._ He grit his teeth. "We may all agree 'tis not a task to take lightly." If Sajantha did not find trouble, it would find her. One must simply be prepared for the messy situations which regularly unfolded around her.

Few indeed could be trusted to the task, but Raviwr had insisted, with obstinance enough that Edwin had actually begun to consider it. And why not? All that was needed was an alert, after all, and the imp in fact possessed a number of tricks at his disposal (some of which were even useful) that would serve 'til Edwin could arrive. (The tests conducted confirmed this occurred within a permissible number of seconds.)

Yet Sajantha must not grow suspicious as to his stake in this: she would know that a familiar was not lightly separated from its mage. And she would have _questions._

It had taken some time to wrap the imp in detailed-enough coercion so that no room was left to disobey; there had been setbacks enough already. At least the creature's ill humor at being forced to invisible obscurity would fade the further their bond stretched; 'twould take a much stronger burst of emotion to reach Edwin's awareness.

Sajantha smiled at the paladin before turning to the others.

 _Bah._ That she had latched onto a father figure with such tenacity should have been little surprise, with all her conflicting feelings regarding her late guardian. _'Some people make me feel safe,'_ she'd said, and clearly counted the old man among them even with him doing so little to earn it.

But had her 'father' been any better, with that cloaked agenda of his, with blinders on to better convince himself of his own infallibility (as such Harpers and holy types always had)? Who better exemplified those traits? Small wonder the man was confident in her regard, but this was the very thing which would damn him.

Embracing the barbarian and the Harper in turn, Sajantha paused before the rogue then laughed before hugging him.

Gods, the girl was not about to subject him to the same indignity, was she? Edwin tensed as she turned towards him, but she quickly lowered her arms, looking almost alarmed that she had held them up even so long.

Good, good. As if he could allow his composure to be so compromised—and within view of so many! Thankfully she seemed to be obeying her brain instead of her impulses of late.

Sajantha tucked back a lock of hair, the smile she'd swallowed slowly returning.

"So, this is what it takes to cheer you up: old bearded men?" 'Twas the most she had smiled in recent memory.

Her smile grew. "They needn't be so very old." _Nearly_ amusing, did one not recall a certain other bearded individual. Who would be remaining in the city.

Her hands clasped together. "You never did tell me…"

"How old I am?" Still determined to tease that free, was she?

She ducked her head, letting out a little laugh. "No. That, too." Her gaze lifted to him. "What I'm supposed to do, without you. I mean—without you reminding me of things."

"The last time I left, you stopped a war and slew a Bhaalspawn. I am not worried." One did not worry about investments, after all. One monitored them. "But at least _attempt_ to stay out of trouble." He could summon a veritable army to surround her and still this potential for chaos—!

"I suppose there's nothing I can warn _you_ about, when you already know everything." At least a hint of mocking tinged the smile she bit back. _"Attempt_ not to fight with the others too much."

The others—bah. As if a reminder was needed that this change of scenery came with such a high price.

"Here." He held out the black embroidered coin-purse he'd purchased earlier. "If you should come into any coin."

"There's something in it?" Sajantha tilted her head, and no trace of suspicion crossed her face as she examined it. She could not detect his arcane mark upon it, then. (At least her magic-block proved useful for once!)

"It includes a share of the group's gold, and is imbued with a holding enchantment to contain any amount of currency without increasing in size." And his mark would serve to isolate its location, wheresoever its whimsical owner happened to run off to.

"Oh! Really?" She hopped a little, stretching on her toes—had she reconsidered hugging him? (Such indignity to suffer!) But she instead clutched it to her chest. "Oh, that's so thoughtful of you. Thank you."

"Practical," he corrected. Keeping track of her was enough to drive anyone mad.

A hand fell upon her shoulder.

"Wizard." The paladin narrowly managed to make the title sound a greeting and not a curse. "Is it not time for you to depart? You are leaving her in far better hands."

Edwin sucked in a breath. 'Better?' Did he so wish to demonstrate his ignorance? But Sajantha still stood with them: this was not the time.

 _Pfeh._ He would collect her soon enough; the paladin was irrelevant. One more set of eyes (as aged and nearsighted as they may be).

Edwin shifted his gaze back to Sajantha. "Take care of yourself." For despite whatever guardians remained in place to watch her, her safety fell to no other.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _The temple scene was all due to Kyn, btw -for the fan-art (!.!.!.!) comic she did some time ago regarding Edwin discovering Sajantha's scars, because it made me realize I needed to put a lot more thought into that! So this is the other half of the inspiration she gave me. (The first half was the scene after Ama…) ;D_

 _{spydrouge dot deviantart dot com/art/Aknowledgement-Part-I-518381226}_

 _And like I hope I've mentioned, I get not only motivation but lots of ideas from your comments as well—and even just reminders of things I should not forget (what dangling subplots?!)—so thank you all for being a part of this; I couldn't keep it going on my own. :)_


	23. Guardians

**[Author's Note]:** _I shall hereby offer you this longer chapter to make up for the wait! (And not because it just got really long somehow arghhhhhhh)_

* * *

=S=

Sajantha ran her fingers across the delicate embroidery of the coin-purse. The enchantment left no clue how much gold lay within, yet however spare the amount, 'twas tangible progress, gold that she could ensure would be saved and not spent: Imoen was that much closer. The coins clinked together, reassuringly heavy.

She tucked it into her belt pouch, then turned away from the city gates to give Keldorn a smile. "So? What shall we do with the day?"

"It does me good to see you in such high spirits." Keldorn smiled back, gesturing for her to follow as he headed to the right, away from the slums. "A task at the Order came to my attention yesterday. I believe it is something you would be uniquely suited to aid with."

Her? She was ready to blush, but the flatter faltered: a _task._ He only wished her company for this, some single task. Not that… not that she'd any right to some indefinite hold upon his time! She should be pleased he wanted her along for anything. However small.

Sajantha determinedly kept hold on her smile. "There's always something, I suppose. Given how much crime is around here, I don't expect you ever lack for aught to do."

Keldorn chuckled, and his white-and-gold cloak lifting in the breeze. "Far from it." As they stepped out onto the bridge, the morning light glinted off his armor, almost enough to give him a golden glow. "I've had little time to visit home of late what with the battles raging in the south: the Order's vigilance ranges much farther than one city."

"That sort of thing's more suited for the garrison, then?" Not that the guards involved themselves overmuch in the districts that needed it most. And what if Keldorn had avoided it, too, hadn't followed his hunches and instead left the skinners to their business? The garrison might have found her, true. But not in time.

Sajantha rubbed her wrists with a shudder. Focus on something else, on the feeling of the sunlight heating the top of her head, the warmth that would surely break through these stray clouds. _The Bridge District._ Perhaps even now they passed by the very same building she'd been tied up in.

"Aye." Keldorn gave a nod to someone walking past; the streets had already begun to fill with folk beginning their day. "Our duties call us to greater conflicts; it's rare for much work to be found in this city, for all we've an outpost here. One of my younger followers was sent north to investigate the bandits plaguing the Sword Coast this last year."

"Oh—truly?" They indeed ranged all over! "We actually met some sort of paladin up there. Briefly." Best not get into details, how Edwin had so nearly goaded the man into a battle. "We didn't have much chance for introductions, but I wonder if 'twas he?"

Keldorn's brow lowered. "Squire Ajantis _did_ mention an encounter with a Red Wizard… a Red Wizard who nearly assaulted him."

Oh! _Idiot._ Why had she mentioned that; of course such a thing would have been reported! But it wasn't Edwin's fault it all escalated like that, not really. Not _entirely._

"He…" Sajantha licked her lips. "Edwin doesn't get along so well with paladins. I suppose them all hating him on sight doesn't do much to foster good relations—when your man _began_ the conversation by telling him he stank of evil?" How had he expectedthat to go over?

Keldorn stared at her, taking a moment as if to measure his words. "If evil indeed has a stink, I don't know that the Wizard is free of it."

"I'll be the first to admit he can be quite an ass." So many other things, though. "But I've _met_ real evil. He's not like that."

 _Edwin's gaze locked on hers, the heat of his hand on her back…_

Had Keldorn spoken? He was still staring at her, with an extra wrinkle furrowed through his forehead.

"What?" The warmth inside her rose outward to her face.

"Evil wears many masks," was all he said, and as she ducked behind him to step out of the way of a rumbling wagon, it seemed the conversation was closed.

* * *

The Order remained just as grand as before, with those towering white pillars and slashes of red, so stark and bright at the same time: a cold beauty, only the scent of gardenias softened the air.

But somehow it seemed even larger, the vaulted ceilings even higher, when she walked in Keldorn's shadow, when the attention of every armored man and woman they passed one by one turned towards them, having for him a smile or a nod. When every gaze would next slide to Sajantha, expectant.

And even though he kept his hand on her shoulder, steering her through the halls to wherever he intended them, apprehension began to tickle at her neck the farther in they went, the more and more faces left behind them.

 _'Evil wears many masks.'_

Her steps faltered on the polished tile, and she turned her skid to a hop to reach the floor runner, distance enough for Keldorn to drop his hand from her.

She didn't look back at him. Keldorn, he… he hadn't meant… he hadn't thought _she_ was evil. He wouldn't have invited her here if he had! Unless…

Metal boots rang along the tile floor, quieting as they crossed the crimson carpet: one of the knights had broken away from a group to intercept them.

To _greet_ them. _Stop it, stop worrying._

The man's face was chiseled into stark planes, yet a warmth lit his gaze, and while he was armed, his blade was sheathed in place. Hardly hostile! Did she wish to be as paranoid as Edwin, seeing danger where it wasn't?

And in a place full of paladins, he'd be even more on-edge than she! Yet somehow having him at her back right now would only be reassuring. Well, it might be other things, too, because of course she couldn't forget what it had felt like with his hand upon her back. And it hardly helped that one of those times she'd lacked a _shirt—_

A prickling heat suffused her cheeks: the two had begun the conversation without her! How much had she missed? And how much had they noticed? Thankfully, whatever their subject, it seemed to hold their attention more than a girl with a wandering mind. And paladins couldn't read minds, right?

"…His army grows ever-stronger. Ogres, hill giants, now Cyricists, too? I have never seen anything like it." The knight spoke in a voice grave and gravelly. "Rumors say he is a Bhaalspawn."

"Wh-what?" Sajantha's voice cracked. _Another Bhaalspawn?_

The knight's gaze fell upon her, his eyes a stormy force of blue. "You should have little to fear; Sythillis's armies engage us much farther south."

 _Sythillis._ The name sounded rather serpentine, the sound of it crawling and creeping around her. Two of the three Bhaalspawn she knew of had unleashed their strength only to terrorize: 'twas likely just as well that she hadn't any power at hand.

"I very much doubt Cyricists would ally themselves with a child of Bhaal." Keldorn managed to infuse the dismissal with a hint of humor. "But I've already submitted my report." He gave his head a shake. "I fear I could not get close enough to verify much more than we already knew."

Sajantha spun to fully face him. _"You_ were in the south!" That's right, yes, he'd told her that, back when she hadn't the context to consider it closely. But off fighting an army of giants and ogres? Gods! No wonder he wasn't especially concerned with local crime.

"Indeed." Keldorn's eyes wrinkled up a bit in amusement, though it didn't feel as if he were laughing _at_ her at least. "Ah," he leaned forward, "forgive me, you two have not met."

"Yes." The knight stepped forward, hand out. "I apologize for failing to introduce myself: Sir Ryan Trawl." Even with manners rather stiff and a hand worn to roughness, his eyes weren't unwelcoming, his gaze more assessing than sharp.

"Nice to meet you," she offered as they shook, too off-balance to summon much more, but fortunately Keldorn knew to save her.

"Sajantha is a friend of mine. I thought her perspective would be invaluable here."

"Sajantha," Sir Ryan repeated. "An honor to meet a friend of Keldorn's." However sincere, there remained something a bit distracted about him, as if he were already keen to return to talk of war rather than pleasantries. Yet he managed to be brisk without being brusque about it, granting her a fierce smile.

"Thank you." Her ear-tips were surely bright red, and did Keldorn know her words were to them both?

Especially since Sir Ryan had continued talking—and talking to _her,_ for Keldorn surely knew this story already. "—the family has been a model of decency in this city, and their work opposing the slave trade has earned them renown across the land. It has also earned them enemies."

"Slavery!" Sajantha gave her head a shake. "There's slavery _here?_ I thought…" Well. There were all manner of illegal things going on, weren't there? No need to be naive about it. She pressed her lips together before anything else ignorant slipped free. At least Edwin wasn't there to make her feel even less worldly.

Beside her, Keldorn's sigh sounded weary. "I fear despite whatever laws we make, human lives remain a profitable commodity. Here, as elsewhere. Few have the heart to oppose it when they are made examples of: the Morningales were killed almost to the last."

 _'Almost to the last.'_ Sajantha's breath caught. An entire _family?_ Though, 'almost,' so surely: "The children?"

The aggrieved look upon Keldorn's face answered for him. "Naught but the eldest survives."

A message, these children had lost their lives for a _message?_ Just to ensure no one else would stand up to the slavers. But _they_ surely could! Sajantha tilted up her chin. "Are we to avenge them?"

Sir Ryan rubbed his chin with a rather considering look, but Keldorn shook his head. "Alas, if it were so easy to track these despicable folk, they would have answered for their crimes long ago. But 'tis the survivor needs looking after."

Oh, 'the eldest', of course. Then this task amounted to little more than nursemaid-ing, really, but for once Sajantha was to be the watch _er_ instead of the watched, which was surely an improvement.

Sir Ryan gave a nod. "We expect another attempt will be made to," his lips twisted in a grimace, " 'finish the job.' Her godfather is to collect her in the morn, but we need the safe-house shift covered for this evening ere he arrives."

Someone approached with enough speed in her periphery to steal her attention, though they hadn't any armored footwear to announce them: Sajantha turned with a jolt of surprise that overlaid the recognition—but of course, where else would he be?

Anomen's clipped gait took but a moment more to reach them. Even clad in a more casual leather jerkin—practice gear, perhaps?— all about his bearing was official, as if he were as polished as the others around them.

If his purposeful stride alone hadn't made it clear, Anomen was on a mission: he acknowledged her with only the briefest tip of his head, clearly there to speak with this paladin, for the way all his attention oriented towards the man. "I would ask if I could accompany them, Sir Ryan?"

Oh! Mightn't this be Anomen's own instructor, the knight he squired for? For there was a bit of pride—or maybe even fondness?—that softened the ridges of Sir Ryan's face as he studied the younger man, then granted him a nod. "Aye, you'd not ask unless your other duties were caught up."

"Thank you." Anomen dropped his head in a deep nod. "I will endeavor to represent your name and the Order's with utmost vigilance."

So he was! How nice. The older knight seemed a decent sort, even if he leaned a bit towards the stern side. Like Jaheira had pointed out, Keldorn's kindness might rather be the exception amongst paladins; a mentor like him would have counterbalanced Anomen's too-serious side far better.

"I have faith you will." Sir Ryan turned to the rest of them: "May Helm watch over you, and Torm guide you." His gaze lingered a moment on Sajantha, and whilst he hardly looked suspicious, some warning stirred in her all the same. _'Which god do you follow?'_

The question shadowed her as if he'd spoken it aloud, and she managed only a tight-lipped smile before turning away.

* * *

Out in the open air outside the Order, the sea breeze was fresh and damp. Rising to the tips of her toes, Sajantha took in a great breath as she stretched. "If we're not to meet at the safe-house 'til evening, we've still the day." She glanced between them. "What do you…?"

"An opportunity to practice your swordwork would not be amiss," Anomen pointed out. Then he turned to Keldorn. "I have been giving her lessons."

"Well, not even with swords, really, not yet." It had best be soon, though, with no knowing when it might be most needed. "I've not even graduated past footwork, I'm afraid."

"Footwork!" Keldorn sounded quite pleased. "Let us see what you have learned."

It made sense, was probably a good idea to go over it again anyhow, yet her mouth had nearly gone dry. What if she'd forgotten it all? Mightn't he find even more things wrong with her stance than had Anomen?

In fact, Anomen appeared even less enthused with the idea. "We are managing just fine, Sir Keldorn." He crossed his arms. "I am perfectly qualified to give instruction on my own, and I've no need of further lessons. I near my knighthood now."

Keldorn's chuckle sounded more indulgent than amused. "All of life is a school of sorts! When one ceases to learn, one may as well cease to breathe."

"If that is so," Anomen's voice was stiff, "then there is no reason that you need to be my teacher. Life will take care of it for you."

Were Anomen a cat, his fur would surely be bristling. Sajantha laced her fingers together lest they be tempted to smooth down his hair. Perhaps two teachers _were_ a bit much at the same time, when their skillsets so overlapped.

She reached for his arm instead. "I think it's important to listen to wisdom wherever you hear it. There's a lot of things that don't make sense 'til you experience them yourself, aye, but those who've gone through them before us can offer insights. There's… there's so much I was told just last year that I didn't believe."

How much might have been avoided? If she'd only been so cautious as Edwin had warned… "We needn't all learn it the hard way."

"I suppose there is wisdom in that." Yet Anomen's tone sounded more as if he'd conceded only to humor her.

Sajantha held in a sigh. Now surely wasn't the time to make a face at his hardly-concealed begrudgement, for perhaps that was all his pride could allow. Gods, if only he and Edwin realized how alike they were! But at least Anomen could _pretend_ to admit being wrong.

"Aye." Keldorn nodded. "Learn the lesson where you will, but learn it."

"Perhaps we might meet back up after we practice a bit, then?" She looked between them, from Anomen's closed face to Keldorn's open one.

"An excellent idea." The older man's concession was quite a bit more convincing. "There are many within I have not spoken to in some time, and much to catch up on. Just as there is much for you two to cover."

"We'll see you later, then." Sajantha waved.

"We'll depart just after longtable," he agreed.

Sajantha skipped to Anomen's side; he'd already begun heading 'round towards the practice field.

"Alright, what should we work on?" Probably more footwork would be best to confirm she had indeed learned something, but when she looked up to him for confirmation, he was glaring straight ahead.

"Hm. Maybe I ought to watch you take some swings against a practice dummy." Mayhap that would loosen him up enough; the rigid lines of him were only too clear when he wore no armor to hide him.

"I, ah, forgive me, my lady." Anomen raked his fingers through his hair with more force than was necessary, leaving the thick curls of it even more askew. "Curse this foul temper of mine! I swear I shall never be free of my father when he lives through me thus."

"A temper? But surely there must be far worse things to inherit."

"From him?" Anomen's grunt of agreement rather eloquently summed his disgust. "There was naught of any good, 'tis true."

They stepped through the gate, and she followed his gaze towards the edges of the field, where the walls overlooked the sea. "Come, you can't truly believe it's impossible to overcome such inheritance?"

This time the sound he made was one of frustration and defeat. "Blood does not lie." He gave his head a shake, curls giving a bob of agreement. "I have tried to tame this blood of mine, but each passing year tells me the futility: I can fight it only enough to keep it at bay."

"Maybe that's the problem, 'fighting' it; you can't treat temper with temper, surely, so mightn't you—"

He turned his back on her, muscled shoulders tense through his jerkin.

Her heart sank. _Heart…_ yes, maybe that was it… She took a step, just a bit closer. "You've a good heart, Anomen; that's what truly matters. Not your blood." What had Keldorn said? "It's not for others to say who we are; we make that choice ourselves."

It took a few moments, but when he turned, he wore a smile, even if he wore it tightly. "I know not how you do it, but once again you manage to disarm me. You've more skill at soothing my temper than I."

"See, that's easy, then! You only need to figure out whatever it is about me that helps, and make it your own."

This time his smile was more convincing. "I will try."

He did seem to have calmed, and he no longer held his shoulders so tight. "No need for swords, then?" She nodded towards the weapon stand.

"Not yet. It will be some time before we work you up to that."

"By longtable, I hope; I've an appointment I need be prepared for."

Anomen didn't look especially amused.

But they had to start sometime soon! Otherwise this might not be worth anything. Might be too late. She held up a finger. "One more day of footwork, then."

"That depends on how easy it is to knock you over."

* * *

Sure enough, she had accumulated a series of bumps and bruises even before highsun, and when they finally took a break for highbite, her aching muscles protested returning to the field. Had the borrowed protective gear served so little use?

Anomen was surely trying to dissuade her from even _wanting_ to learn swords, first showing how easily she could lose her balance, and then demonstrating all the ways the practice stick might be knocked from her grip. And learning how to hold a sword, this was supposed to be the easy part!

"You are improving," he assured her, but the knowledge didn't lend any bonus energy. How did anyone manage to do this all day?

Sajantha wiped sweaty hair from her eyes. "I hope you're as hard on your novices as you are on me," she grumbled, and in the hesitation before his response, his answer was clear: he'd not actually been going hard on her at all, had he?

How _embarrassing._ She looked away before he could speak. Even those few minor victories she'd fought for, of course he'd been holding himself back!

Though he tried to make light of it: "You wouldn't last a day in one of my classes."

"I'm not lasting a day _now,"_ she realized with a groan. "We're only halfway through!" 'Twould be hours yet before longtable, and the day threatened to stretch long past her means.

"You'll get there." Anomen sounded assured, so he must have seen recruits of similar skill, right? "Though I shan't push you any more today; it's never a good idea to wear oneself out before a mission."

A mission. That's right: _her_ mission.

Sajantha smiled, and not only because she was done falling in undignified heaps for the day. She tilted her head towards him. "I am doing better, though?"

"I have faith we will make a fine…" He paused. "What is it we wish to make of you?"

 _An arch-sorceress!_ It could have been a joke, but only for a non-Amnian audience. "A poet!" she kidded instead, another item on her list of forgotten pursuits.

"How about a 'bard?' " Oh! So he remembered that list, too. "Have you tried that harp yet?"

She folded her hands into her lap, her smile nearly slipping. "I haven't had the time, really." Partly true. A little.

And then there was a gentle touch upon her hand: calloused fingertips nudged it over. "These are the hands of a harpist."

She stared down at her fingers, at where Anomen's bronze skin overlapped with her own: so much smaller and paler. Her skin had reddened where the gloves had chafed, and blisters already formed along her palm. She fanned out her fingers, ignoring the blunt nails that had yet to grow back out. "I thought you said you didn't know aught of music. Musicians."

"I know warriors."

Heat speared little daggers into her eyes, and she drew back; Anomen straightened as she did. "Why must they be so different?" Surely there couldn't be so great of a difference! As if his own hand might be so special!

He offered no resistance as she took hold of his hand, then flipped it so it lay palm-up where she could examine it, his knuckles resting just over her knee. Could she be so very different than any other fresh recruit he'd trained? Did he think there was something lacking in her?

She traced a line past his thumb, and his fingers curled a little. "So yours is all weathered and tough, I see. Been through a lot. So've I, only you can't tell just by looking." She let go, let him take back his hand. "That's the only difference I see."

"The _only_ difference? Your hands are a great deal more lovely."

A scoffing sound slipped past her lips. As if that was good for anything! "And yours are good at what they do." How many days of practice, years, layered up to create such a firm grip? "That's worth far more than being pleasant to look at." Not that hers were so lovely now, beginning to crack and peel.

Sajantha looked up. "Harping gave me callouses, too, you know." Just not in the right places. "But if I keep working, keep practicing, I'll have some the same as you. I might not be a fighter yet," she flexed her fingers, "but that doesn't mean I can't be."

Anomen stared down at his hands a moment before standing with a sigh; he brushed his palms off on his trousers. "Let's get cleaned up."

* * *

 _Safe-house. Under-cover._

In the spirit of intrigue, both Keldorn and Anomen wore nondescript cloaks over their armor, though they might have gone a bit overboard ensuring the disguises passed muster; walking between them through the city had her nose wrinkled up whenever the wind died down.

But hopefully the worn-in fabrics kept any suspicious onlookers at bay. They'd lent her a cloak as well, a bland gray which Anomen said was enchanted against attention. Not unlike the ones she and Imoen had worn sneaking about whilst felons in Baldur's Gate, it served to deflect all but direct detection.

After the splendor of the temples, skirting by the slums made the squalor of the southern districts stand out anew. The buildings here seemed especially squat, more and more run-down and downward-running as they sloped towards the sea. No one needed to tell her this part of town was one best walked with care! A larger party might deter brigands, but those lacking numbers had best look as if they lacked coin as well.

A breeze blew through, tugging at her hair, and Sajantha took in a deep breath of it. _Oops._ Whilst the cool sea air might be welcome upon her face, the fishy flavor rather left an unpleasant coating in her mouth. She grimaced as the next chilly blast sent a trail of trash rustling by.

How could Keldorn remember which house it was? These dwellings were indistinguishable from each other, lacking all but faint traces of whatever coating of paint had first colored them, all clustered too-tight together, rickety enough that perhaps being so squeezed was all which kept them upright, and certainly none of the bleak faces looking out appeared inclined to offer invitation.

But with great confidence, Keldorn led them through a maze of streets 'til he turned to knock upon a door. "Hail, brother."

The door creaked, and a thin face peered out, blinking as if the sunset might be strong enough to blind him, though he didn't appear to need any assistance in recognizing Order members. "Ah, welcome, my friends! 'Tis good to see you." He indeed looked delighted, far more than the occasion warranted.

They filed in after him. Welcome, indeed! The pleasant space that greeted them may not have qualified as fancy, but the entry rug was soft, and the couches looked comfortable for all their drab coloring.

 _Quite_ a contrast to the dull-black curtains that took over one wall; even the strip of violet edging did little to diminish the way their darkness dominated an entire side of the main room.

"Who designed those curtains," Sajantha laughed, _"Shar?"_ They were certainly dark enough, gods! Who could even tell whether the sun had yet set or not? Or whether there was even a window behind that fabric at all?

Keldorn's smile looked a bit grim. "They're heavy enough to keep any lights within from reaching the streets. In theory, no observers can tell how often—or in what numbers—anyone stays here."

"Why have any windows at all, then?"

Anomen set down his pack. "It can be just as deadly to have no means of escape."

No use thinking of that, of all the ways they might perish trapped within. Sajantha shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"Oh, um. A bit, aye." At least she had that excuse, not even quite a lie. "But we're out of the wind now." Where had that chill been during the heat of the day when she was sweating? She pulled her cloak a bit tighter. "I'll be fine." It wasn't as though she'd insist upon making use of that fireplace!

The resident guard hovered about them a bit, though the way he kept glancing at the exit and the way he'd already wrapped himself in a cloak said he was more than a little relieved to be relieved of his post. "She's on the second floor," he pointed, side-stepping towards the door.

She'd shut herself up all alone? The poor girl! "I'll go talk to her." Sajantha stepped onto the staircase. This was why they'd brought her along, after all. Another orphan who'd seen far too much, who'd lost too much. "See if there's aught she needs."

"She needs a good dressing-down, is what she needs," the knight muttered.

"Sir Franco!" A frown appeared on Keldorn's face while he turned to admonish the full-grown man as though he were a churlish child. "That is not worthy of you nor her."

"I apologize, Sir Keldorn. The woman has my nerves wrung raw, she does." The knight gave Sajantha a nod that almost looked like a wince. "Good luck up there, miss."

Whyever would she need luck? _Curious._ Sajantha ascended the stairs, then gave the door a knock of announcement, and a streak of gray fur—a cat?—raced past as she opened it.

"Hello." She waved a little as she took a single step inside, and the door caught against her pack, prompting another—rather undignified—step forward. "Tyrianna, right?"

The young woman sprawled on the bed looked up. "What do _you_ want?" White-blonde hair framed her oval face and her short green dress bared her shoulders; along with those painted lips, her colors mirrored the gardenias in the red vase beside her.

"I'm Sajantha. We're the last shift 'til your godfather arrives." 'Twas a cozy room, almost reminiscent of the Flagons, with the friendly touch of flowers to lighten it despite its only window being a .

"Hmph." Heavy-lidded eyes scanned her. "You look marginally more interesting than the metal suits who've been smothering me."

Sajantha set down the pack on the spare bed. "I'm so sorry to hear all that's happened; you've gone through so much! I—I know how hard that is, to lose someone. Your whole family…" She looked down, rummaging through her bag. "And since you had to leave your home, I wasn't sure what you'd have with you; I brought some extra clothes and things—"

"Ugh. Spare me. I'm still a _noble;_ it's not as if I'm some charity case." She gave a delicate shudder. "I don't even want to _imagine_ what dreadful bugs and things must be crawling in there." After shooting the pack a disdainful look, Tyrianna heaved out a sigh, flopping back into the bed.

Sajantha bit her lip. Likely the armoire there had been well-stocked for such occasions. "So…" She gathered up her pack, returning the comb and soap and socks to it, "there's nothing you need, then?"

"A _drink._ Be a dear and fetch me a bottle of Arrhenish, would you? Lightly chilled. The last servant took so long to deliver, it got _warm._ " Another shudder.

Downgraded from a nursemaid to an errand-girl, was she? "I don't think that's the best idea. We're supposed to stay here, and—"

"Gods, you paladins are all alike!" Tyrianna's lip lifted in a sneer. "And my godfather's not going to be any better. So uptight. I'm already _dying_ of boredom."

'Dying?' "You very nearly did die." And her whole family _had!_ But this wasn't the mourning survivor one would expect; Tyrianna really did look little more than bored. "You… do you truly not feel anything? All those people who died—your family!—and you're concerned about your godfather being _boring?"_ Surely… surely this was an awful joke, some strange way of coping…

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I've already lived with those stupid 'champions of morality;' I know what it's like to endure such dreadfully dull goody-goodies, and I am _not_ looking forward to repeating it." She gave her hair a toss.

"You should be dead."

Tyrianna waved a lazy hand, examining her nails. "I know, it was great luck I wasn't killed with the rest of them and such. Thank the Lady and all."

"No," Sajantha grit her teeth, "you should be _dead."_

Tyrianna's red lips curved into a little smirk. "Pardon?"

"You can't even respect their deaths or honor their sacrifice, the cause your family cared so much about? What were _you_ spared for? What are you going to do with your life to make it worth anything?"

"If 'family' was so important, they wouldn't have dragged us all into this mess, putting us all in danger." She sniffed. "Well, they paid the price, didn't they?"

"What—what's the point of your living? To be a symbol of something you care nothing for, to disrespect all your family fought for and disparage all who strive the same?" _She_ had survived, of all of them? _"You should be dead."_

The woman's careless posture stiffened as she drew in her arms and legs. "You're serious, aren't you? Hmph. I should have seen enough of you tools to recognize them." Tyrianna straightened slowly, a menace to her as she uncoiled. "No one talks to me like that, girl."

Sajantha's brow knotted, her pulse like an ache throbbing behind it. Was that supposed to be a threat? Oh, aye, let her _try_ it. "That's your problem, isn't it? You've never faced a single obstacle, a single hardship. Some people struggle to stay alive every single day, and the grandest thing you ever accomplished was hiding and cowering to avoid getting killed."

How did she not feel the weight of that, of all the lives extinguished around her? "Tell me why _you_ deserve to live while the noble souls of your family perished in your place."

"Excuse me! I don't have to justify my existence to you, peasant!"

"Justify your _attitude_. This mindset that you are worthy of attention and respect, when every word you speak contradicts it. Tell me why anyone should care if we walk away and let the slavers do whatever they will with you."

"Why?" She blinked. "Then… the slavers will win."

"So?" Hands on hips, Sajantha shook her head. "You don't care about the cause. You don't care about being a symbol. Why should I?"

"It's your duty, you stupid peon! Obey those above you. Your job is to protect me."

"My 'job?' I do hate to disillusion you, but I'm not a paladin; I'm not part of the Order, either." Sajantha took a step forward. "You've no idea who I am, what my loyalties might be. I've no 'honor,' no 'duty,' to keep you alive. Just my own compassion. So explain to me: why should I feel any for an entitled brat who feels none for anyone else?"

Tyrianna's sneer bared her teeth. "I am your _better,_ you horrid little pissant. I don't know why you think lowborn upstarts like yourself have any right to—"

"The slavers might kill you, to make a point." Sajantha cocked her head. "Or they might just spare your life. You're worth even more to them if they take you into their system, aren't you? A beautiful noblewoman: not skin nor body worn from craft or work or weapon. How long would that softness last, I wonder? You could become one of the slaves you don't care about. I suppose that might change your outlook against slavery, your appreciation for those who dare to speak against it, when they are the only ones who can save you." Is _that_ what it would take?

"You—you _dare?_ You're _threatening_ me, now?" Wavering between disbelief and rage, Tyrianna nearly shook. "You awful, awful woman. My godfather will hear about this! You think you can get away with it? Your superiors will—"

"I have no superiors to answer to." Hand on hilt, Sajantha bent towards her. "You think _you_ can get away with threatening me? You have no idea— _no idea—_ how to elevate your threats so they might frighten me. You don't know what I've seen—what I've done—you don't know a single thing about me. But I know everything about you; you're shallow enough for it to be clear to see right through." How could there be so little to her?

"Go on," Sajantha raised her chin, "tell me how you'll use other people to put me in my place, how your prestige, your wealth, your status ought to cow me into compliance. Tell me why I must meekly obey you. You are a girl who has never had to lift a sword—who has never had to fight for her life, or anyone else's—who has never stood up for a single thing outside of herself. I don't see your servants now; I don't see your godfather. What are _you_ going to do me?"

"I don't—how… how dare you talk to me like that! You're an evil person. A vile, wretched beast!"

"And what manner of person are you, 'my lady?' " As if she deserved such a title! "Perhaps it's time you considered that. Sit here and think about it. Think about how you might be worthy of the life you have. How your family might be proud to keep on living through you. And when the quiet eats away at you full of all the things you can't face, maybe the guards will still be here and can distract you. They'll stay, because it's their duty, and they're true to their word. But they won't always be around. And you're going to have to face the silence—face yourself—eventually."

Now the girl's face was nearly the same shade as the vase. "You are going to face _justice_ when I tell my godfather about you!"

This wasn't going to go anywhere. Not that Tyrianna deserved even the effort. Nor another moment of her time. Not looking back, Sajantha reached for the door—the sound of glass shattering burst against her ear: right beside her _head_ —water dripped down her knuckles, carrying away a wilting flower petal to fall in the red glass below.

Her grip on the doorknob tightened as a shiver swept downward from the crown of her head, an electric tremble that clenched her fingers and her jaw.

That, that blasted _girl,_ that thankless spoiled mockery of 'nobility!' When innocent children had died around her— _instead_ of her!—and she lacked even the decency to mourn them? How could she… _how could she_ — _!_

Sajantha let out a hard breath between her teeth, and the tingling in her fingers began to fade, even as the pressure behind her forehead pulsed.

She glanced back. "I don't know if you missed on purpose or not. But when you say your prayers, best thank your god that didn't hit me."

Tyrianna sagged back against the bed.

Sajantha wrenched the door closed, heart hammering in her ears and nerves abuzz as if her aggravation still required release. How _dare_ that horrid girl be so ungrateful?

She wiped off her damp hand firmly against her vest only to have her palm cry protest: tiny trails of blood streaked across her skin. _What…?_

"What happened?" Anomen was already hopping up the steps. "Is everything alright?"

"My armor, I think it got glass on it." Ugh, some shards must have caught in the draping fabric. She shook out the vest-skirt, and fine twinkles of red sparkled all the way to the floor, too light to make a sound.

"Broken glass?" Apparently enough to confirm that earlier crash required investigation: with a frown—and great grace to do so upon the narrow stairs in his full armor—he slipped around her into the room.

Sajantha winced at the first blast of Tyrianna's shriek, surely even louder where Anomen bore the brunt of it. On the other side of the door, his low voice became a series of a staccato bursts attempting to override Tyrianna's agitated soprano.

Then came the blunt and brief sound of furniture scraping. Had Anomen dodged something? Nothing followed it up, though, nothing but the door swinging open, then slamming closed, a final punctuation mark for the clamor. With his back against the closed door a look of disbelief and foggy confusion spread over his face as he tried to sort through whatever had happened.

Sajantha couldn't help it; a giggle slipped free.

And Anomen's gaze met hers, a crease sliding through his brow, before a chuckle reluctantly left him. And then another. And then they were both laughing—snickering like children, really—for who would have expected any of _that_ on guard duty?

Sajantha fought through her laughter to take a breath. _Gods,_ but that felt good. She nudged Anomen's shoulder with her own. "How much do you suppose we might get for trading her in?"

The humor at once fell from Anomen's face, and he stared at her, fighting through a frown. " 'Tis poor taste to jest of such things, my lady."

"Who says I was jesting?" she teased, but by the incredulous look upon his face he found that even _less_ funny. He… he couldn't truly believe that? But mayhap he did, mayhap he was thinking of exactly how desperate she was for money. For Imoen.

And the question began to tug at her—just in the back of her mind—because it would _have_ to be a considerable amount after all, wouldn't it?

She gave her head a shake. "Honestly! I wouldn't ever sell someone into _slavery,_ gods." Even someone who—were there a scale of judgment—surely deserved it more than most. _Well._ Her fingers knotted into fists. Maybe one person, she would. Not that her imagination could stretch so far as to imagine anyone able to enslave _him_.

"I should never think so poorly of you, my lady, of course not." For all he often blurted out offensive things, Anomen would just as hurriedly apologize. "You have a… a delicacy about you that simply makes it difficult to reconcile such words coming from a woman of worth as yourself."

Her face had to go and heat up, as if being unable to decide whether she should be insulted or complimented left her settling for merely embarrassed.

"Perhaps it is from training together," he continued. "I am far too used to reprimanding novices. And myself." The last part snuck out beneath his breath.

Had he known her sharp ears could catch it? Certainly he'd not missed the other elven features she'd inherited, with her small stature and slight frame. 'Delicate!' Surely that's what he had meant by that.

And surely it was indeed a strain to keep oneself constantly on guard against anything which could come close to violating the vows of the Order. Even in humor, though? But if she protested how dull that was, she'd end up sounding like _Tyrianna,_ and a line needed be drawn somewhere, didn't it?

"It's alright." She waved it off. "I know what it's like having to watch yourself." A pity her caution had never made any difference to Ulraunt. Her nails pricked painfully against her palm; she'd clenched her hands again.

"Your hand." Anomen descended a step towards her.

Oh! The cuts. Squeezing her hands hadn't at all helped the little wounds to close, and however thin the trails 'twas enough for Anomen's keen eyes to spot it: he'd already taken her hands in his.

"It's, no," she pulled a bit, "you don't need to—" Her protests flattened beneath his prayer.

And 'twas but the gentlest lapping of power but it rushed through all her senses; it took all within her to stay silent, and her muscles locked as she held in a scream behind clenched teeth.

 _'Again,'_ his voice would command, as firm and unyielding as he, and no one could disobey him, not forever (not for long).

Her stomach dropped, her balance swayed, and one of her hands shot out to grip the banister, the other Anomen's arm.

"What's the matter?" Everything blurred no matter how she blinked; the face before her was naught but a smear. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." She snatched her hands back to her side.

 _He should have remembered._ Why couldn't he have remembered when he'd tried to heal her in the tombs? "You didn't need to do that." Trying not to stumble—or give herself away and reach for the banister—she hurried down the stairs towards safer ground.

Not that it at all alleviated the tickling feeling that crawled all over her skin and made every breath take effort. "Just… tired. I think… lie down; I should maybe lie down." But, gods, he must think her so weak! How often had she used that excuse, when the truth wouldn't do?

Edwin had told her to stop running from the truth, yet admitting _this_ wasn't what he meant; as if he and his brutal honesty would have any tolerance for finding her so!

 _'Take care of yourself,'_ he'd said, so she would do that, she could do that. Yes. Take care that none saw just how much a mess she really was. _'You are not a little girl who needs an armored nursemaid.'_

Sajantha swept her cloak aside and sank into the closest couch. How much more shameful did that make it, that she really _was_ so tired as to nearly collapse?

But, but _no._ She'd been at the training yard all day; surely she'd a right to being exhausted? Tyrianna was the only one needing nursemaid-ing here! And only her god could say howsoever little she deserved any aid.

"I trust everything is being resolved peaceably." Keldorn's voice emerged, muffled, from a nearby room. A moment more and he'd appeared around the corner, his joviality fading as his gaze caught upon Sajantha.

She quickly rubbed at her eyes. Just how out-of-sorts did she look, for his face to turn so serious?

"We're fine," Anomen replied, filling up most of the stairwell with his stance as he descended to ground level. "Though I believe the long day is taking its toll."

And that couldn't really be argued. "Oh! You made tea!" Somehow she'd missed it, but Keldorn hadn't been empty-handed—nor idling about these last minutes—the most unlikely cook, the impressively tall fully-armored paladin held one steaming mug in each hand, and his mouth quirked up as he raised them for inspection.

"Aye: red tea." He stepped around the couch to hand her a cup. "Though I fear the larder here hasn't any milk in stock."

"Thank you." She linked her fingers through the mug, inhaling the rich aroma. "Oh, this is lovely." A bit too hot still, but she took a careful sip. "Mm. Cinnamon?"

He gave a pleased nod. "With vanilla. As it passes your approval, I should deliver some to our lady guest." He held up the other drink.

"Ah…" said Anomen, just as Sajantha said, "Well," and sat forward.

And _there_ the humor at last returned Anomen's eyes; they shared a knowing glance.

Sajantha smiled into her tea.

Anomen squinted at the stairs in ill-concealed disapproval. "The lady is a bit… discomposed at the moment."

Which was an oh-so-perfect opening for a line about leaving the girl there until she _de_ composed, but she'd learned her lesson; alas, this audience didn't seem one for wordplay. "She was sorely disappointed we hadn't any white wine in stock. Chilled, naturally."

"I'm sure some time to calm herself would not go amiss," Anomen concluded, revealing just enough wryness in his tone for the older knight to pick up on.

"I see." Keldorn offered the cup to Anomen, who shook his head. "I fear Sir Franco did not paint an especially flattering picture of our charge." His eyes twinkled. "Surely you must have the patience of Ilmater for remaining with her so long as you did."

"Oh, I…" Sajantha raised the mug, the warmth on her fingertips soaking all the way through her. "I tried, at least. Though I don't know that it made any difference."

Keldorn's smile was a bit weary. "All we can do is try, and pray."

"Can't you sit down?" The two of them each stood at a corner of her couch; she had to twist to look up at them. "If we're to be here all night, at least you might get comfortable." She took another sip, savoring the sweet tang on her tongue. "Us all sitting around the fireplace! It could be quite cozy."

Anomen leveled her with a disagreeing look. "Cozy?"

She glanced again about the room. What did it look like through his eyes? Certainly, the charred, empty fireplace now appeared like a frame ripped of its artwork, hardly the sort of centerpiece to stare at, and the black wall of a curtain to the side rather dragged at one's attention, and not in a pleasant way; the space was indeed a bit more grim than anything else. She let out a sigh. "Well…"

"Not without a fire," he finished—smiling, now: had he managed a tease of his own?—and Sajantha laughed as he headed straight for it.

"Oh, no," not that her protests could sound terribly sincere whilst she laughed, "you can't; the weather's not even right for it." The cool evening air here wasn't truly cold enough to warrant an indoor fire; even if she did always end up chillier than everyone else, they'd be baking in that armor!

"No trouble." Firesteel in hand, Anomen knelt before the fireplace. Metal scraped as he tried for a spark.

It _looked_ like a fair bit of trouble, though, especially bending over with all that extra weight of mail! 'No trouble' would have been a snap of Edwin's fingers, an easy enough image to imagine. Though if he were here, he'd likely let Anomen _begin,_ waiting for him to lean into the fireplace so he could conjure up a just-barely-excessively-sized flame to singe him. Just enough that Edwin couldn't be called entirely culpable, just enough to get in a good smirk. Gods, did he and paladins have to be so _allergic_ to each other?

And… and _gods,_ getting vexed with him when he wasn't even here for something he'd not even done! With a sigh, Sajantha sank back against the couch, hugging a throw pillow against her chest.

"There!" It took Anomen a moment to creak up to his feet, using the mantle for balance. Within a few moments, the fire rose merrily behind him.

"Now, come, I can't be the only one with the good spot; you need to sit down." She patted the seat beside her, though the loose folds of her cloak had already made an attempt to claim it. "And have some tea."

And Keldorn chuckled even as Anomen explained: "As you saw, it's not so easy to get to one's feet wearing all this." He did come to lean a bit against the arm of the couch, though.

"Right. Duty and all. Ready at a moment's notice!" They were here to be guards, after all, and clawing themselves upright in a sea of cushions was hardly dignified, never mind all that safe. But still. Couldn't they have a little bit of enjoyment somewhere? The stool Keldorn balanced upon hardly looked restful.

" 'Tis why we are here." Anomen didn't sound resigned, though, so much as _proud_ that he should be chosen thus. But hadn't he referred to his own armor that way, too? _'The burden of responsibility?'_ "There would be little use for us, otherwise."

And that was the way of it, wasn't it, like Edwin had said, about needing be constantly on alert else 'twas no use bothering at all. How very… _tiring_ that thought was, and all the more so for its truth; she somehow felt drained by it, both exhausted and empty.

Yet she couldn't just sit here, not if no one else would join her! Sajantha shifted in her seat. "I oughtn't be the only one lounging about; I'm here for the same reason as you, aren't I?"

"As nicely as your training is coming along, I don't think that's aught to do with why Keldorn invited you."

No. Not that she'd done an especially good job tolerating Tyrianna, either. A yawn interrupted her protest, trying to force her eyes closed.

"I've stayed in this safe-house before," Keldorn said. "There should be another bed upstairs."

"No, I couldn't." Sleeping while the rest of them worked? And upstairs! 'Twas not unlikely Tyrianna would attempt to smother her in her sleep. "I really couldn't."

"You should try." With a bit more of his weight on the armrest, Anomen leaned closer. "Jaheira said you'd not been sleeping well."

 _Right._ As if the flames were already large enough to reach her, her face felt hot. Of course he knew that. And of course she'd left that relaxant concoction Jaheira had brewed for her back at the inn. But… this could be relaxing, couldn't it? An evening with two people she trusted standing guard as she slept? How many such opportunities would come along to catch up on her rest?

"Alright," she conceded. "But I'm not about to go back up there. Do you think it would be alright, just… right here?" There were two other couches aside from hers, and no lack of chairs for them to sit. Even another stool, should Anomen change his stubborn mind.

The idea only briefly discomfited Anomen, for he managed to locate a blanket for her once his attack of propriety had passed. For surely she'd violated some protocol or other somehow, but how could she keep track of all these rules? She was no lady and they were _all_ acting as knights here, weren't they, even if one of them happened to need some sleep before she'd be much use. Not to mention training.

Sajantha laid out upon the couch, breathing out a sigh against the stiff decorative pillow.

Though the room was warm enough without it, she curled around the heavy woven blanket, and listened to the crackling flames of the fireplace as she let her eyes drift shut.

* * *

A high whine pierced through Sajantha's ears—what—! _who…?_ —and the feet pounding down stairs sent her upright, blinking sleep away.

"There's something outside—I saw it!" The sharp noise crystallized into a voice, the alarm in it palpable.

 _Danger._ The certainty of it sent her hand reaching: where was her _sword?_ Where was… where was _she?_

Sajantha kicked the blanket aside and scanned the room. Blade: still on her belt, on the floor. The safe-house floor. _Right._ She jumped up to reclaim it before turning to the source of the clamor.

"Go do your job and kill it!" That 'noble'woman stood clinging to the banister and gave her foot a stomp. "Go on, then—protect me! You said you'd protect me!" Face white, hands clenched, she didn't look to be lying, though surely she was the sort to over-dramatize.

"Away from the windows, milady, please." Keldorn guided her back up the stairs as Anomen blew out a candle, leaving but one light to waver feebly.

Then he looked over at her. "Did you have a nightmare?"

It took a moment to hold back the cloak, to re-buckle her belt and adjust the sword and dagger, and Sajantha took extra time to try to compose her face.

"You were thrashing in your sleep."

"I… I don't remember." 'Thrashing' was a step above screaming, at least.

The fireplace hadn't been relit, leaving a black maw in the wall without even a spark of embers; with the dark curtains, half the room seemed to sink out of existence. The only light was an ensconced candle nearby that kept the room's shadows shivering, just enough to tell the black walls were solid and not an emptiness.

Anomen had drawn a few folds of the heavy curtains aside, and she stepped closer to peer out with him, but the candlelight behind them left far too many reflections on the glass to make anything out; her night-sight couldn't focus past them. "Can you see anything?"

His breath—so close—fogged the glass; he grimaced, stepping back. "I…"

And something exploded.

A blast of smoke, a spray of glass, and Sajantha clambered back, coughing as she squinted through the thick haze.

Under attack? But how, _how_ could this be happening? They'd taken all the precautions, hadn't they?

And they were indeed here now—glass crunched as they rushed into the room—and it didn't make any sense but there was barely time to move, never mind think about it; her sword sang free of its sheathe, and swung wildly as she backed up.

Her blade thunked into something soft, lightly armored, an arm? And a sword whistled straight towards her in response, its owner slowed little enough by whatever wound she'd managed.

So _close!_ Muscles she didn't even know she had stretched and twisted as she threw her head—her whole self—backwards, a flash of silver arcing above her.

Something slammed against the back of her head, a blow hard enough to flip the world sideways. _No,_ she blinked through stars as she brought her neck up, _she'd_ gone sideways. Footwork, she'd forgotten her footwork, but on her back she had a grand view of Anomen's sword slicing through enough of her attacker for his attention to turn upon the next.

The body fell beside her, as if she needed further motivation to move.

Right. _Next._ Gulping in a breath, she tripped once on her cloak before managing to duck around the back of the closest chair. Just what in the Hells was going on here? Make sense of it, make sense of it _quick._

Glass shattered, some vase or perhaps her wayward mug of tea, and the safe-house rang with the sounds of grunts and cries and steel. She tried to focus her night-sight to pierce the foggy room.

Black, the assassins wore black, alright, easy enough to keep track of, especially when they outnumbered her enough to fill the space! There couldn't be so many as it looked, though; they'd spread out to search, maybe some back in the kitchen—

Keldorn, though, where was he?

A crash—a figure had fallen, splintered the chair it had landed upon—but not armored enough to be Keldorn.

"Crossbow!" a voice roared. Keldorn, _there_ he was, by the after he'd thrown off his attacker, he'd left himself far to use his sword and without a shield to defend: crossbow bolts could punch through plate armor, more than the rogues they were tangling with could manage—

Where was the archer? Sajantha scanned the room—oh, there was that cup of tea—and, ah, the archer! Anomen was closer to the woman reloading her crossbow, but would he make it in time to—no, not when she was already taking aim—

With a half-leap, half-slide sped by her stockinged feet, Sajantha stretched out to snatch the mug, to hurl it at the woman's face.

And she _mostly_ didn't miss. The liquid at least splashed into the archer's eyes and left her shot going wild as she blinked through the stream with a bit of a scream, for she probably expected acid, something more potent than red tea. Ha! And Anomen was right there to clean up.

But— _ow_ —no time to stop moving: a blow caught Sajantha in the side, knocked her to the floor. Her armor had protected her ribs far better than it did her knees as she struck the ground. But the attacker didn't move, landing atop her legs. A discard from someone's blade. With a shudder, she half-kicked, half-crawled out from under him.

"Okay," she panted as she peeked up over the side of the couch, barely able to hear herself over the clash of steel on either side, "I'll practice more footwork." If she stayed alive so long. Not that anyone seemed to be singling her out, not when the others made for much more tempting targets.

But, oh, _of course_ , she still wore that cloak!

 _"Sajantha!"_

Her gaze jerked up. Keldorn's height caught her eye first; he'd been driven into a corner by two assassins and there were a few more figures clustered by the broken window: Anomen, good, still standing, still fighting.

Sajantha's heart caught in her throat. What did he want her to do; what did he possibly think she could—

 _Oh._

Though his gaze hadn't caught upon hers—his eyes too focused on the fight—Keldorn's head had tilted towards her, as if gesturing.

 _Upstairs,_ some lucky searcher must have made it upstairs.

With a deep breath, Sajantha sprinted to the staircase, every muscle tense, just waiting for a hidden arrow to fly, for a swinging sword to sink into her.

But she had a target of her own. _Tyrianna._ The temptation to leave the ungrateful shrew couldn't slow her steps not even for a second, not when this was for Keldorn and Anomen. For honor and duty, even if not her own.

The second-floor door stood ajar, and she came to a halt just outside it: it left more than enough opening to see movement within, to see a black-clad figure searching. No, _finding:_ the assassin had locked onto the armoire and was trying to open it.

Sajantha sucked in her breath and squeezed through the cracked doorway so as not to touch anything. Her stockinged feet made no noise as she took cautious steps forward, and the cloak hovered at her ankles with barely a swish.

Imoen would laugh at this, her sneaking around. Sajantha squeezed her eyes shut. Wouldn't now be a time to have Tymora's luck?

Closer, closer, but she couldn't move _quicker,_ even though the armoire rocked with Tyrianna's banshee wail, reaching an urgent pitch as its door was at last ripped open and its inhabitant revealed.

Staring straight ahead, the girl's terrified eyes widened more as she spotted Sajantha, but she did what was perhaps the only helpful thing in her selfish life and managed to shriek louder, ensuring her attacker's attention was upon her and not on Sajantha's quicker less-quiet steps, not on the sword rising up.

The outline of the figure solidified before her, clearer with each step: close-fitting leathers meant anatomy was obvious, a small figure meant she didn't have to reach so very high.

And then the screams hit a note that triggered something in her head a flurry of visions a flood of red—

 _No._ Sajantha's breath caught, choked; her hands rose to her ears. _No no no._

The sword clattered to the ground.

No.

Don't think. _Don't think._

Other weapon, _yes,_ she had another weapon, and the figure was turning but the blade was in Sajantha's hand: she plunged the stiletto into the neck. Deeper. Deep enough it took a moment for the blood to rise free, a gurgle in the throat that pooled from the wound, from the mouth. The assassin took an aimless lurch of a step, limbs uncooperative. Then slipped down.

Sajantha's breath escaped, and with it all her muscles loosened, suddenly fluid. Weapon still raised, she looked up at Tyrianna, who cringed back.

In a sword fight—in a _fair_ fight—she wouldn't have lasted a second. But…

"Surprise." The word cracked as it left her dry lips. Sajantha lowered her hand—shaking now—and gravity drew the blood down to drip across the floorboards.

Edwin always said it was about surprise.

At their feet, the assassin slumped, spreading red as she choked. Until she didn't.

Sajantha turned away, licking her lips. Was there time to catch her breath? Blood and battle still hummed in her ears, in her pounding pulse.

She'd done it. _She'd done it!_ She'd not been too late, had not lost her nerve, hadn't even gotten hurt! Nor had Tyrianna, at least not enough to matter.

The rush of fierce satisfaction kept Sajantha buoyed, kept her light on her feet as she readied her stance, facing the door. The sounds downstairs had grown quieter. She flexed her grip on the hilt.

'Twas about taking back control, about being strong and proving herself capable: _that_ was why she should feel satisfied, not just this eager restlessness, so close to a wild surge, a wave of excitement swelling that left her hungry to… to…

Sajantha froze, stared down at her hands. _What…?_

Heavy steps tread upon the stair. Metallic. A paladin, someone _safe,_ and she'd already lowered her blade even as Anomen's worried voice called her name.

But, oh, her hand, her bloody hand! She switched her hold on the blade to wipe her hand upon the vest—as if that could be better!—yet the streaks faded from sight even as she smeared: the material remained blue. _What!_

 _Wait…_ A smile tugged at her in faint amusement: had Edwin ordered such a silly enchantment as that? But, however convenient it might be to stay clean—how pointless, really! How dare he waste Imoen's gold so?

Unless… _'It's already been taken care of,'_ Keldorn had said when he'd handed over the coin for the armor. Might that have all been Edwin's _own_ money?

Her face was warm as she looked up.

Anomen's surge through the door slowed as he took in the scene, though he didn't come to a stop 'til he was much closer, close enough for her to see the hairs curled against his sweaty forehead and the red cut across it, to feel the exhaustion in every heavy breath he exhaled. "Are you alright?"

 _"I'm_ fine." Tyrianna's sharp voice cut between them. "Glad you're so concerned." But 'twas a bit halfhearted, as if her reserves of spite were running low.

"My lady." Anomen inclined his head, " 'Tis most gratifying to see you in one piece." And he wasn't even unconvincing, save for how little his attention truly focused upon her.

Sajantha looked down: she'd need to wipe her dagger off, too. Was the enchantment upon her vest strong enough to service that as well? Best not risk it.

Anomen bent down to the assassin's side.

Was he checking whether the woman still lived? The cut had been clean, and Sajantha had seen too many deaths to not recognize it. But would asking if the assassin happened to carry any gold sound too callous? Yes, yes, it likely would. She should wait, check later. With hope, this wicked slaver's death could help Imoen as well as it helped everyone else.

But when Anomen rose, he held something out. Was that—was that pouch full of coins?

"Oh," she breathed. Sure enough, the buttoned pocket contained something thick enough to feel like gold; it jingled as it slipped into her palm. "Oh, thank you."

He hadn't yet let go. "I'm glad you stayed."

And 'twas a strange sentiment with a body lying at their feet, but Sajantha had to smile. "I as well." The purse was heavy enough even without the weight of Anomen's hand.

"But if I had known 'twould put you in such close quarters with danger, I'd never have agreed to it."

Sajantha had yanked the pouch back to her side before consciously willing it, but had just enough presence of mind to snap shut her mouth before anything flew out. She'd not argue in front of their current audience, however the words stung.

Instead, she bent down to wipe her blade off on the assassin's cloak until it was free of red and her voice free of emotion. "Well. I'm sure whatever the others are up to, it's not any prettier." When would he understand? It wasn't as if her life had so many options. Being a bard… that had been the dream of someone else, long ago.

She stood up and accidentally caught Tyrianna's eye: something burned in the girl's gaze. Sajantha stared back, and Tyrianna looked away first.

* * *

 **[Author's Note(s)]:**

 _Tyrianna's quest is one of the paladin stronghold quests. Unfortunately, you had no satisfying options in the dialogue tree to deal with her. Bard to the rescue!_

 _Sorry this got so long… and then longer… this is what happens when I try to flesh out my manuscript's brief blurbs of scenes and don't have an editor. o_O  
_

* * *

" _In 1370 DR, Sythillis led an army of goblins, kobolds, ogres, hill giants and worshipers of Cyric in attacks upon southern Amn."_

" _According to a tavern rumor [in BGII], Sothillis was also a Bhaalspawn whom [sic] was killed by a fire giant (presumably Yaga-Shura)." -FR Wiki_

 _So, as the 'Sythillisian uprising' was referenced in both BGI and II, the fact my story is set 1369, the year before it *technically* occurred, is… irrelevant? xD *gently sweeps it under the rug with probably more significant plot holes*_

* * *

 _I suppose there's no reason to get into specifics, but my life has been incredibly difficult lately, and reviews have been like the one bright spot I am able to get and give me the motivation to keep going - so they truly mean a lot to me, thank you. :)_


	24. Liabilities

**[Author's Note]:** _Apologies that it may be a bit of a mess for a couple chapters as I just plunge forward tying new and old segments together (the timing doesn't always line up, agh xD); I've been stuck on hold long enough so I'm just gonna go for it... but we shall be getting to one of my favorite parts soon... thank you to everyone hanging in there! :)  
_

* * *

=E=

"If you were not in such a hurry to destroy everything in your path!" The druid's sharp tone pierced through the air. "I might have calmed one of the beasts enough to speak with it."

Even the idiot and his hamster didn't presume _that_ would have worked! Edwin returned her glare. "I heard no complaints when my flames incinerated the wolf attempting to _devour you."_

" _Far_ too close for comfort–"

"Excuse me…"

They both turned as one. _"What!"_

"Th-the mayor," one of the soldiers stammered, the relief on her face quickly diminished by the force of their scrutiny. "The mayor is expecting you. You are the mercenaries he sent for, yes?"

 _Mercenaries,_ ugh. As if following orders was not degradation enough, such a label reeked of the most coarse manner of subservience.

Jaheira's eyes narrowed. "Which way?"

"I…" The soldier cleared her throat, evidently digging down deep for the confidence to address the group which had done her job for her, having fought off the small menagerie of creatures that had threatened the gates. The state of this town's security was simply appalling! "I can take you to him. This way."

The rest of them obligingly filed along behind her, but Edwin stood his ground. Two days of cross-country travel with these simians was taxing enough; now he must follow them about through the town?

"Go meet with this mayor of yours, then; I've things of mine own to attend to." Blah blah animal trouble, one did not need to endure the predictable diatribe: discover what was sending these vicious creatures, and stop them. The mayor would be able to offer little additional in the way of solutions or insight, else he'd not have so desperately requested outside assistance in the first place.

Jaheira took a look around, perhaps noticing the encroaching sunset, for she frowned. (Surely she would not demand any more travel!) " 'Tis late enough; I doubt we can accomplish much else this day. We will meet you at the inn; be prepared for an early rising."

Oh, yes, waking to pray with the dawn—as if the sun might not rise without sufficient coaxing—the fun in traveling with the nature–worshiper was absolutely endless. Could they not have paid some poor fools to do the work for them and collect the dividends? 'Twas moments like this that running the guild did not seem so taxing; at least the fools he'd suffered there knew their place.

As they trailed off, Edwin cast his gaze around the town's excuse of a marketplace. Might there be anywhere about to buy spell components? But for the merchant tents set up outside the gates, this place was little different than any other piddling village in this region: hardly appealing prospects, and those damned animals had burned through his stock far faster than anticipated. Time to explore what constituted the local shopping district.

Whatever disparaging things one could say about the City of Coin (and there were indeed many), it certainly boasted the most superior selection of exotic ingredients anywhere in the West; odds here did not seem nearly so favorable. If only that damned djinn outside had been willing to trade!

But may as well wish for even ten minutes in the markets of Eltabbar. Thay's capital contained as exponentially more as Athkatla did compared to this Trademeet; the scarcity of such things in this region was far too painful to ever grow accustomed to. _Not much longer._ Mere tendays, surely, before he could return home.

And how much more glorious, his return to Thay, with the powers untold he would soon possess? Yes, thoughts of this might make the current situation bearable, as innervating as imagining returning to his zulkir to make the requested report. Nevron had little strength but for his bound demons, and when Edwin next faced him, the mantle of Zulkir of Conjuration would be but the first boon surrendered. Worth enduring such deprivations a bit longer, when soon he would have more than he could possibly need.

Today, he would settle for spell components.

A parked wagon angled near the market stalls, decorated with twisted twigs and ribbons and hanging charms that made a racket as the breeze blew through, carrying the faint scent of incense: some manner of magical accoutrements. Such a haphazard assortment clanging about named their owner little better than a dabbler, perhaps some sorcerer with a hint of the gift, just enough talent to divorce the easily-impressed from their coin.

"Greetings, traveler." A woman wearing similarly gaudy accessories stepped up beside him. "A mere gold piece, should you desire the benefit of my gift of insight."

"A fortune teller, are you?" Yes, that was the stink; the diviner in Baldur's Gate had burned the same sort of incense that itched at the nose.

"If you wish, I can tell you something of your place in the future."

The instinctive dismissal that rose to his tongue stayed there. His future, hm? It had taken a diviner's aid to locate the pieces of his puzzle thus far, and even a meager mageling such as this might possess enough ability to tell whether he was on the right track. Certainly 'twas contingent upon Sajantha's cooperation, as well (who could predict aught of her without magical assistance?), and the diviner had warned him not of Irenicus… of how it might impact his plans… might there be additional pieces yet hidden?

"Very well." Even the barest chance it could prove fruitful was worth a coin and a moment of his time.

"Close your eyes, and let me feel your aura."

Ridiculous. Close his eyes? Without Raviwr to watch his back? His spine tensed. But—his glyph would serve warning enough. If she intended harm, 'twould already be obvious, and any other mischief his magic could easily resolve. He took a seat beside her.

Not especially old, but the hand that took his was with wrinkled from dryness, a texture reminiscent of the Scroll. _The Scroll._ He kept that at the forefront of his mind, not the strange feeling of another's hand upon him, a hand he could not see.

A humming sound began in the back of her throat, a vibration that seemed to travel through her fingers; he endeavored to keep his own hand in place. Allowing some peasant to paw at him! At least no others were in sight to witness.

Her voice emerged in a dreamy murmur: "I see death." Oh, this was an auspicious start. Just whose— "Death is the path to life, and loss is the path to great gains: you may only reach what you truly desire by losing everything." Her fingers tightened. "There is victory in surrender: pride will slay your dreams if you do not slay it first."

What was this? An insult—a threat? His eyes snapped open.

"Mark your friends." The diviner's eyes stared out, blank and empty, eyelids fluttering as if she gazed upon something else altogether. "Your friends, not your allies, shall save you at the end."

"The 'end?' " He pulled his hand back. "Just what is meant by this, wench?"

It took a moment for her eyes to focus, though she appeared barely more aware as she blinked at him. "I… I know not the meanings behind my words sometimes, good sir."

Useless premonitions! Why even bother asking such unshaped talent? "Bah!" He shook out his hand, double-checking his rings remained in place (not that she would have the first clue how to release the creatures contained within them). "Take your coin."

* * *

=S=

Why must he treat her as such a child! The urge to stamp her foot, to let loose a tantrum of Tyrianna's scale nearly had her demonstrating just how young and helpless she truly felt; Sajantha bit down hard on her tongue instead.

But Anomen noticed her self-control no more than he'd noticed her irritation; he turned away from her as the first footfalls sounded, an echoing cacophony that rose up the stairs ahead of their armored owner.

Bloody, but not bleeding, Keldorn entered the room and glanced between them with relief curving a smile onto what might otherwise appear fearsome features: the sight of the large man covered in the aftermath of battle would surely be daunting to those who knew him not. But, beside them, Tyrianna looked neither afraid nor relieved; she didn't look at him at all, preferring to lean against the wardrobe—her earlier hiding-place—with an air of apparent boredom.

The older paladin quickly scanned them. "You are not injured?"

"No," Sajantha assured him, and Anomen shook his head.

Tyrianna simply scowled, prompting Keldorn to take a closer look. "My lady, you are wounded." His hand rose to point towards her chest.

"How dare you!" A smack reverberated through the room, and even Tyrianna looked shocked at how loud the slap had been as she faltered a step and Keldorn withdrew his rebuked hand. "No one is to… to t-touch me!" Her voice trembled, just enough that Sajantha could hold off on wishing one of them might forfeit duty enough to slap her back. Gods, that ungrateful woman!

Yet, returned as she had to resting within the wardrobe, 'twas difficult to do more than pity her pathetic slouch. And she'd been wounded after all? Perhaps some of that racket she'd made hadn't been for show.

Keldorn frowned, a groove lining deep between his eyebrows. Might the slap have truly upset him? "This scratch…" He stared at the noblewoman with a concentration so intense it should have scared anyone, even before his eyes flashed with decisiveness: "You have been poisoned."

As if his words were a catalyst for the truth, Tyrianna tried to straighten, but couldn't quite make it; she knocked against the wardrobe and sank to the floor, aided more by gravity than the paladins' attempts to slow her fall. And even still she wouldn't cooperate! "Jus' scratch…" she mumbled, head tossing in irritation, as if the others stood between her and a sudden desire to sleep.

"My lady! Why did you not…" Red-faced, Anomen was at her side in an instant, tearing off a gauntlet before he pressed his fingers against Tyrianna's forehead; his own forehead furrowed as he squinted shut his eyes and prayed to his god.

"Here," came Keldorn's voice in a hoarse demand, pointing to torn fabric just above her breast. Not far from her heart. (Not far enough.)

Their alarm felt like a distant thing, like it existed in a space too far away for it to touch her. Sajantha's gaze slowly lifted to the ceiling, to the pools of light left by the candles; nothing marred the wooden eaves above save a single spiderweb.

Tyrianna was staring upwards, too, the whites of her eyes growing ever larger.

"My pack—there should be an antidote— _Sajantha!"_

The desperate order in Anomen's voice slammed her back into reality, with the sound of Tyrianna's bubbling breath and a sour smell of sickness hitting her by turns.

"Got it, I've got it—" His pack would be on the first floor somewhere. She jumped—maybe tripping a bit—over them and down the stairs, bounding across the entry rug (across the bodies) with a series of squelches that followed her across the room and back to the stairs, with every damp step of her stockinged feet.

She'd been gone only moments, but the scene had deteriorated, like exposing Tyrianna's scratch to the air had already filled the space with sickness, something so heavy it had already settled in, heavy like her wet (bloody) feet already knew: there wasn't any point hurrying.

Heavy like her full hand: gravity tugged at her arm, dragged her gaze downward.

"There should be more blood." Death always came with more blood than this, but here 'twas only around the slaver's body, not the girl's. Where was all the blood? Sometimes it stayed inside and pooled in nooks and crannies, but they'd only know that once they opened her.

"What?"

The question hit her, made her flinch, even as she recognized Anomen's voice. "What?" she repeated, her startled hand flexing on her hilt. No, not a knife, she wasn't holding the knife, just a… oh. The potion. It didn't matter, though, not anymore; it was already too late.

As if in agreement, Tyrianna's limbs convulsed, accompanied by a rhythmic thud each time the base of her skull knocked against the wood floor.

" _Sajantha._ The bottle." Someone pulled the bottle from her hands.

 _Focus!_ But all she could hear now was the heartbeat pounding (alive) in her ears. Too late, too late, always too late. Her fault her fault her _fault._

Just minutes before, she'd been _proud_ of it, of taking a life. But, this…

Her breath caught in her throat. "I didn't do it," she whispered, because they would next turn to her (turn on her) because her blade (her skin) was bloody even if it wasn't and Keldorn didn't know what she'd done but he knew what she was and he could _guess,_ could track the trail of blood as assuredly as the one she'd left right up the stairs.

The two Order members were trying to pour the liquid in, but far more bubbled out; Tyrianna's lips were open, pink and foaming. "You…" she gurgled. A plea, an apology, an accusation? Perhaps better not to know. Her eyes, still staring up, lost their focus. Their spark.

The rest of the body took a few stubborn moments to stop moving. But that happened sometimes.

No—Sajantha shook her head, stepping back—not 'the body.' The young woman. The noble. Their charge. The _mission._

Guilt crawled upward with grasping hands to squeeze her chest. The woman, aye, the woman they'd entrusted her to protect, the woman she had failed, just as surely as if she'd never recovered from that freezing panic. Would they even bother granting her another opportunity to fail them again?

Hand over her mouth, Sajantha turned back towards the staircase, only to be confronted by red footprints. Her stockinged toes curled under.

Bare minutes before, she'd been ready to snarl at Anomen for making her feel like a useless child in need of protection rather than a respected compatriot sharing duty—an equal—but she _wasn't,_ was she; she deserved no such accolades, not when she'd so spectacularly done so little. If she'd not frozen with her blade for that fateful moment, nor again with the antidote…

"She's gone." A truth they all of them knew, but Anomen's words added weight to the grim scene, and he rose slowly as if the burden bothered him, too.

 _'Hesitation is death,'_ Edwin had said. At least it hadn't been her own.

"I need to report to the Order." Keldorn's voice was slow, heavy even with the conviction drained out of it, and it lay upon Sajantha like one more load on her shoulders. "And her godfather needs to be informed."

"I'm…" Sajantha's voice cracked. "I'm sorry."

He nodded once. "As am I." There wasn't any blame in him, just an exhaustion that said he'd been through this before.

 _'Apologies are worthless,'_ Edwin reminded her, and those words cut straight through this dull fog around her, straight through her lungs; she sucked in a shaky breath and didn't notice she was leaning upon Anomen until he took a step towards the stairs and her balance faltered without him.

And now Edwin was muttering something about armored nursemaids, but his voice was so sharp and judgmental that she turned away, catching up so Anomen's wide shoulders could brace her, could muffle the sound of disapproval.

 _There's a poison in my veins, too,_ she wanted to tell them, wanted to be healed, but there wasn't any point in wishes, was there?

* * *

=E=

Without the constant chatter of certain giddy-headed giglets, the journey bore quite a change to any which had come before: this group remained content to ignore one another outside of the sporadic battles as they fought through tangles of wild things.

Oh, the barbarian had pointless observations he could not keep to himself, but the loquacious lout eventually condensed his conversational attempts to only his rodent. The rogue's contributions seemed to be a series of sneezes in a variety of pitches and ranges, occasionally sending a flock of birds squawking to the sky in reply. Whatever awaited them would be well-warned.

And just what else lurked in this overgrown undergrowth? Surely if aught of any menace, the druid would know, but enduring the rustling foliage for mile after mile (why had he agreed to this?)—when any sound might portend a battle—left his patience frayed threadbare.

Although none of this collection of misfits spoke, it could hardly be termed 'quiet', not with this ruckus of birds and the buzzing of crawling things and such. If only the Scroll could be examined properly whilst walking, the arrangement might manage something closer to tolerability.

Overly territorial beasts and overly sized insects took every opportunity to swoop upon them, whether the group was wading through marsh-water (why had no one built a bridge through this?) or the general muck surrounding it (why even bother trying to skirt around?). Indeed, there was no shortage of things to kill out here, but without anyone complaining about the (impressive) radius of Edwin's fireballs, they made as fair a time as could be expected with such undignified tromping about.

Yet, just as sticky and hovering as the humid air, an unease remained about, as if an expectation of something waiting at his back—something his glyph could not warn against—

 _Sajantha._ That was it. She had never failed to disturb his silence during such hikes, had never failed to seek him out, and her absence coupled with Raviwr's was surely what left this curious feeling of something misplaced. But 'twas not as if he wished interruption, of course, simply that the buffoons currently around him were good for little more than catching flies when they opened their maws, and the environment was one boring patch of mud after another, a blandness only matched by the dull drone of their druidic guide as he desperately tried to find meaning in every worthless blade of grass.

Nor was there even any road to speak of, though the two druids did their best to coax a path through the wilds, and for all his self-professed knowledge of the area, this new druid was little improvement over the first.

The others had pulled the unkempt wretch from some prison cell in town, to act as a guide to locate to the source of the disturbances: hardly a difficulty, when every single sign pointed to more of these nature-worshipers at fault. The details were of no interest, for here was where the trouble lay, and so here they would fight it. Who accompanied them was of little concern so long as the savage did not deem himself worthy of Edwin's attention.

With his thick tangle of dark hair and leaf-woven cloak, he could easily have stepped out of the barbaric Rashemen, a constant unpleasant reminder of battles not won. _Pfeh._ No reason to pay the tree-kisser any more heed: who wished to be reminded of those suited only to be slaves? As if the climes—and company—were not dismal enough already!

At least Jaheira seemed to have little patience for casual chatting; she silenced them often enough that Edwin was not forced to intervene with an interruption far less polite than her glare. The woman was on a mission. Whatever other obnoxious things could be said of her (and there existed plenty), she—if nothing else—paid efficiency its proper due, and consideration of the migratory habits of swallows and such were irrelevant distractions.

And he had suffered _far_ too many distractions of late.

At least _one_ diviner had left him with a truth able to be unraveled, woven in his own design: each step firm, fitting into the one before it, stacked to reach his glorious summit—so long as the Nether Scroll surrendered its secrets and Sajantha lived so long to implement them.

* * *

=S=

The Coronet was in an entirely different world than the coziness of a paladin safe-house, and even traveling back through the slums didn't blunt the transition; the odors of packed bodies and pipe smoke and stale beer struck hard and then lapped over her like a rolling wave.

Sleeve over her mouth, Sajantha coughed and waded out of the worst of it, her boots chafing against her bare feet as she scaled the stairs.

And here awaited a familiar face—a _friendly_ one—that nearly rocked her with relief. "Oh!" _Lacey!_ "Oh, it's so good to see you." And doubly so, for she'd had no sight of her since the hidden healing potion had vanished, and that horrid harpy of a 'madam' hadn't offered a word of reassurance.

But here Lacey stood, alright and… and… Sajantha's smile faltered, for Lacey hadn't a smile at all. "The potion, I noticed the potion was gone—" something was _wrong,_ with that tight look upon her face, "are you hurt?

Lacey's lips flexed like remembering politeness forced her into a shadow of a smile. "Not me, no. Zira used it." Her voice caught on her friend's name. "She needed it, too—gods! Lucky we had it." And her eyes brightened up a bit there, gratitude lightening her just a little. Just for a moment. "I reckon one of the customers must've complained about her the other night, 'cause Nin…" Lacey swallowed. "Well. She weren't too happy." And mention of the madam had Lacey scanning the hallway.

Punishing her like that? Because of such a thing? As if that madam needed more reasons to be disliked! Sajantha glanced around, too, but other than the guard, only a mumbling drunkard shambled about the hall.

"She's not been sleeping, and…" Lacey chewed on her lip. "Might be you could have a look at her? I don't… I don't know what…" Her voice, rising, choked out, then raced forward in a surge: "I dunno what to do." Something almost frantic whitened her eyes, the panic for a friend that Sajantha knew well enough.

"Of course!"

And with a last glance around, Lacey pulled her down a different hall. A cloud of perfumed scents whirled about them, caught in the same swirl that sent Lacey's loose silken veils flying, a breeze of color like butterfly wings streaming behind them as they hurried.

Until they came to an abrupt stop. The silks fluttered down at their feet but still swayed as if waiting to take flight. Lacey's hand was on the doorknob, but her forehead came to rest against the door without opening it.

"So, Zira," Lacey's voice was a bit muffled, speaking as she was to the door, "she's a noblewoman—at least, she used to be. They make a lot more money off her than us common folk, you know?" She said it in the spirit of a long-running joke, yet it fell flat when her voice lacked any humor. Clearing her throat, she looked up, straightened. "Anyway. She and this fellow have got a history. Right about as nasty as you can get. And word tell's he's poked up again."

She was afraid of someone? "But there's guards all over here!" Sajantha glanced back to the hall they'd left behind. "Can't they help?"

"Oh." A strange expression twisted through Lacey's face. "Oh, honey. They ain't here to protect us."

But to break up fights at least, surely! Aye, surely they served some such purpose that might be harnessed, but Sajantha let that tack trail off after Lacey's expression.

"It ain't as if he'd lack for coin to pay them off, besides. Surprised he don't just go to Nin with it. He could, too. Any day, soon as he knows for sure she's here." Lacey's troubled face demanded more than reassurance; she needed a _solution._

"So we bring in the garrison, take it to the courts—" That tack broke right off, too: she didn't even need Lacey's pinched lips and silence to answer. Hadn't Jaheira spoken of their corruption? They'd not only let the Cowled Wizards take Imoen, they'd refused to intervene at all. _No._ Sajantha's mouth snapped shut. _No help there._

And Lacey was looking at her almost pityingly, plenty enough to make her feel ignorant because she should have known better; the courts didn't help _anyone._ Even the guidebook had said the same. "The 'City of Coin,' right." And when you hadn't any, you hadn't a voice.

How much coin rested in her purse? And how much more, after the assassins? _Blood money._ Sajantha's mouth was dry and desolate as she followed Lacey at last into the room.

Perfumes couldn't disguise the air here enough, the way it smelled of sweat and sickness cooped up too long together. And there was an underlying odor of fruit, faint but full of vibrancy; on the small nightstand beside a glass and a cloudy bottle, sat a half-drank healing potion: the most vivid thing in the room.

No windows. No light but the faint line beneath the closed door and a flickering candle that might almost be a mirror to the young woman so tenuously tethered here, curled up on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, Zaviera wore an expression so empty that Sajantha's heart thudded once in her chest; she stirred only a little when Lacey said her name.

"Sajantha's here." Lacey glanced over her shoulder to the door: as much insistence as she could show without upsetting her friend further.

"It's alright." Sajantha knelt beside the bed. "You can tell me. I want to help."

"It doesn't matter." The croaked words took a moment to interpret, thick and cracking as they emerged. Her eyes squeezed shut, a tear slid down her face. "It doesn't matter."

Had that been a glass of water beside the bed? Yes! Thank the gods there was still some in it. But after urging her to drink some, no new ideas came to mind, and the weight of expectation sat heavily.

"I…" But she couldn't help with words, not when she hadn't yet a clue which ones to say. Yet… "I've got another potion that might help, a relaxant. You're supposed to use it to help you fall sleep; it calms your mind." Jaheira meant it to keep Sajantha's nightmares afar, but they only visited at night, and Zaviera's looked to be far nearer.

"We've already got her dosed up on arthorvin." Lacey gave an apologetic wince "We couldn't afford the good stuff. Bad batch, it's given her a headache something awful; she can't hardly keep her eyes open."

If only Jaheira was here to know for sure! "It should be fine." Surely 'twas better than nothing.

She raced back to her room, half-expecting to run into one of her friends, to hear a lecture about running in the halls or be scooped up in Minsc's firm embrace.

But she was alone.

She had to do this alone.

Once Zaviera had swallowed the small vial's contents, 'twas rather obvious when it took effect: she sat up fully, leaning back almost languidly upon the ample pillows, her eyes half-lidded. "Lacey says you wish to hear my story?" The gaze that met Sajantha's was clearer, though her accent—faint before—had thickened with emotion.

"Aye." On the other side of the thin mattress, Lacey squeezed Zaviera's hand, and Sajantha knelt close. "I'm listening."

Zaviera gave a nod as if reassured, turning again to face the ceiling with closed eyes. But she didn't let go of her friend's hand.

"The land of my family, the Saavedras, is rich with mithral. Many suitors wished my hand for this, my dowry, but my father, he was _honroso,_ a good man. He listens, he respects my choices: I say no, not this one, and so it is. But one man, Fadrique…" Zaviera's neck clenched as if she'd tried to swallow; she gestured for the water. "When sweet words do not work, his tune, it changes. I think he is a fool, all boasts and hot air. But then my best friend, _mi amor,_ she disappears."

 _Disappeared._ Sajantha pressed her lips together; this wouldn't be going anywhere good of course, and the need to brace herself tensed through her muscles.

As it did Zaviera: sitting up, she took a sip of the proffered water. "And the offer is made again. There is no proof! He is not even in town when she _desaparece,_ what has this to do with him?" Water rocked in the glass as she waved her arms, imitating a shrug.

"Not two months pass and my brother—the eldest, the heir—has disappeared." Even trembling with indignation, the music of her accent remained. "He can wait, this snake, Fadrique. All the patience. A _vulture."_ She spat the word. But then her voice dropped, quieter, "My father, he grows ill. And here is the snake, hissing 'who will take care of your family?' And so he slithers closer."

Something of a snarl curled her upper lip. "I am the only one who has looked into his eyes and seen how cold and empty. But my father is too worried to look closer. This _farsa_ of a marriage, the date for it is set, but I tell Fadrique I will kill myself before I let him take my family's holdings as he took my family.

"I take a knife." Sitting straighter, she gestured. "It is at my throat. He believes me, steps closer, 'No, Zaviera, you do not want this.' My hand shakes. He steps closer, thinking he can take the blade. So I give it to him." She mimed the motion. "I stab him in the eye."

And as she slapped her palm for emphasis, her teeth clenched, such a fire blazed from her (and slowly guttered out) that Sajantha had to look away.

Lacey must have known what came next, for she'd taken Zaviera's hand in her own, smoothing the skin that had for but a brief moment been a weapon, however insubstantial.

"I… I do not remember so much after this. He was in a rage, _un diablo en él._ He was going to kill me. He—" her free hand trembled at her throat— "he almost did."

"He left me for dead." Zaviera licked her lips. "But his men…" She shook her head, as if trying to shake away the thoughts, and Sajantha bit down hard on her lip. "This is how I end up in Athkatla, then… here."

"You could be a bard." Sajantha swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Telling a tale as you did." The power of her words emerged even stronger from a throat raw from crying: her voice managed to be both husky and melodic. "But if he doesn't even know you're alive, shouldn't you be safe here?"

The laugh that left Zaviera fell especially harsh and flat after the music she'd spun with her tale; the dismissal of it stung. She swiped a hand across her eyes. "His men, they have been here before. So far I avoid them. But he is in the city, I know it!"

Sajantha leaned forward. "You could come with me!" She could find somewhere to go; Keldorn would know of another safe-house they could use. "We needn't go to the garrison, but the Order, surely they would—"

"You understand nothing!" And Zaviera was up, now, up enough to push at Sajantha, though Sajantha stumbled more from the shock of it than the shove. "Get her away! _Sacarla!"_

Something hot flushed through her and steamed right to her face; Sajantha kept backing up 'til she reached the wall, leaving Lacey to comfort the stricken woman.

No, she _didn't_ understand, didn't understand all the different flavors of pain in Zaviera's voice, didn't understand why she should feel so clearly that she didn't belong here, that she wasn't a part of this, not really, wasn't one of them. She didn't understand, but she felt it with a force that nearly knocked her right back out the door.

Instead, she waited, wary, for Lacey to send her an apologetic look, a pleading look, as she held the trembling Zaviera. "They found her body, _mi_ Cristina," Zaviera was saying. "He is a monster."

"Lacey." They all of them jumped at the sound of the male voice: a slim figure hesitated in the doorway, shifting his feet. "You're at the line in five. And, Zee…" He took a breath. "We've done run through our tips. Nin won't let us buy up any more of your time."

And as if his words sucked the vitality from her, Zaviera slumped, fading. "I can do this no longer." The whisper came out dull and cracked at all its edges with her broken voice. _"No más."_

Cradling her, now, Lacey stroked back long black hair. "Shh, shh. We can do this. One day at a time, remember?" But the gaze that rose to meet Sajantha's was more than worried; it was desperate.

"I care no more, if he knows I am here. Death would be quicker than this…" Zaviera gestured, but her hand dropping limply, "this 'life.' "

Sajantha bit down on her lip. 'Buy her time.' Of course. The weight of the coin-pouch pulled against her belt. And here was where she could be heroic and rise to save them, to empty the gold in her purse and ensure that they spent not a night here they didn't wish to—but… but it wasn't hers to spend; it was Imoen's. _'Too late,'_ she reminded, and Sajantha's stomach squeezed.

How much money? That was the question, wasn't it, not what Zaviera's time was worth but what her body and self were worth and that wasn't something you could put a price on but how did that compare to how much extra time Imoen would spend imprisoned (with him) and these scales didn't—couldn't—balance, nor was she worthy of weighing them.

 _Time._ It flicked by even as she stood here, something beneath her skin straining free, prickling nerves that wanted out _(out out away from here)_ , away from the expectation that filled the silence.

This was the moment, wasn't it: the moment she was meant to speak up, to step up, to be a good person and heroically help. But she couldn't move, not when her boots were so heavy as to feel like lead weights. Her throat was too tight, too dry, to so much as swallow.

 _'Help. Help me!'_ Imoen shrieked as they (He) took her away.

Not with money, she couldn't help them with coin, no, but just _say_ something: solve this, fix it, help— _help—_ and there was that slurker's breath hot and reeking of ale, and she couldn't breathe, never mind speak; her hand clenched around her hilt. Had she so little to give them, so little to offer? What kind of hero could she ever be when she only ended up failing everyone, when Zaviera was crying and Sajantha couldn't bear to even look at her?

Lacey wasn't looking at anyone, either.

So she hadn't noticed the way Sajantha's feet had so longed to leave ( _'Run,'_ her father said) and had oriented themselves towards the door.

Shame coated her skin, hot and thick, and she licked her lips, took a step back, but Lacey wasn't looking at her because _(you're useless)_ … because…

Lacey was looking at her sword.

And as the woman's gaze lifted to hers, Sajantha's trembling tangle of thoughts aligned in a sudden perfect clarity: "I'll do it." The words left her even as the thought formed. "I'll find him. I'll take care of him." Something inside her surged at the thought, vibrant and eager, and relief pooled through her, sweet and certain.

Maybe she was too selfish to part with any gold, to volunteer herself in Zaviera's stead. But by the gods, she could do something.

Zaviera looked up only then, looked up through the streaks of hair clinging to her damp face, and though her chin trembled, her gaze burned. "Do it. There is only one way to stop him, one thing he deserves: _asesinar al bastardo._ "

And even without understanding the language, the meaning was dead clear:

 _Kill him._

The clamor inside her had calmed.

* * *

=E=

No word yet through his bond. These limits had not been tested, before—never before had he reason to allow Raviwr so far—but the distance spell to strengthen it ought last through the tenday. They must be doing well enough,

Leaving plenty of time this evening to work on the Nether Scroll. The information he'd sorted through on the road thus far had been interesting, if not applicable. Such possibilities! Yet nothing that could be put to use. There would be opportunity for investigating side trails later, when he was not confined to this schedule.

The fragmented sections deciphered thus far all pointed to one thing: the magic could only be absorbed whilst being channeled from the source. Simply put: Sajantha needed to cast. Obvious enough so as to be inevitable, yet nothing was ever straightforward where she was concerned.

"Raviwr–"

But the imp was not there. No one here but he, and yet somehow how crowded the space! The open book stared up at him. Edwin closed the book upon the Scroll and stood. Hunched, really, these dark walls did nothing but press uncomfortably against his height in an attempt to contain him

The hateful daylight buzzing of insects had quieted to infrequent chirping, bolstered by lower pitches of some crawling variety or other. But the night air was a cool contrast to the day's humid heat, and Edwin took in a deep breath.

"Why do you confine yourself within a tent, when the whole of the world is open before you?" Outside the circle of tents, the shaggy shapeshifter stretched out upon the grass, dark hair and a bed of leaves his pillow.

"Why do you sleep out in the open, where anything might strike you?" 'Twould serve him right.

"Ah. I would choose the beauty of the wild over the stifling of safety any day."

"And that is why you are a tree-hugging imbecile who will never evolve past a swamp-dweller." Without magic to disperse them, no doubt insects crawled all about him. Ugh. Just how 'close to nature' did druids insist they enjoyed?

"To live as the animals do is a very liberating thing. There is peace in knowing you are part of something greater." He shrugged, closing his eyes. "I have no need to reach beyond what I am. What I am is enough."

"What you are is incredibly stupid."

"So says the swan to the wolf who doesn't share his wings. But better to be foolish and happy than wise and miserable."

Almost as unbalancing as speaking with Sajantha, these random paths that had no apparent point. " 'Tis the short life of the fool which is the more miserable."

"The fool does not think so."

"No, the fool does not think at all." Idiot.

The druid only smiled, his eyes slipping closed. "The earth cradles you in her arms as she does all her children. You are no more nor less than any other; it is only pride that rejects her embrace."

"Then we agree: it is clearly a lack of pride that suggests rolling about in the dirt is a worthy pastime." Edwin took in a breath of the cool night air and ducked back into the dark tent.

* * *

 _ ** _[Author's Note]:_** _It's been long enough that I have embarrassingly forgotten the thought process which led to this choice, but I used Spanish as Zaviera's native language, and while everything should be clear enough in context, here's some translations:__

 _ **honroso**_ _= honorable_

 _ **mi amor**_ _= my love_

 _ **desaparece**_ _= disappears_

 _ **farsa**_ _= farce_

 _ **un diablo en él**_ _= a devil in him_

 _ **Sacarla!**_ _= Get her out!_

 _ **no más**_ _= no longer_

 _ **asesinar al bastardo**_ _= kill (murder) the bastard_


	25. Touchstones

=S=

The path back to her room felt like miles—every man that passed was a potential follower of Fadrique—and Sajantha's fingers were knotted with tension by the time she reached her room and unclenched her hilt.

 _Kill him._ Yes. She could do that. ( _'This is the heart,'_ Irenicus said.)

She covered her mouth, bit down on a knuckle.

Not like that, she could do it, but not like that; it needn't be like… like that. She'd killed that slaver last night, hadn't she? Swift and clean, just like that.

Simple. Less simple was how to catch him unaware. If only Yoshimo were here, to tell her how to tail a mark, to track one. If only Edwin were here, to make success seem so easy.

But she was alone. What did she have to work with? Sajantha glanced around at her meager possessions, which looked even less impressive against the equally bare and downtrodden room.

If she wanted to creep up behind him, she still had the cloak of 'unremarkability,' for the paladins hadn't asked for it back. Yet what if they found out? That she was sneaking about plotting something like this? With a sigh, Sajantha fell onto her bed.

Any action outside the law would surely clash with their tenants. And just as surely tarnish Anomen's view of her. And, Keldorn… She bit her lip. How would he feel, knowing a child of Bhaal was set to plan a murder?

Phrasing it like that, so stark and clear, set a squirming in her stomach. Until she remembered Zaviera's strong voice catching and Lacey's pleading eyes.

As Sajantha stared up at the ceiling, a plea to Oghma for direction shriveled on her tongue. Who would accept her prayers?

Ilmater, Keldorn had mentioned the Crying God, the Broken God, earlier, and they were of a kind, weren't they, for they both knew what it felt like to be carved apart. But Ilmater was about suffering and enduring it; he didn't advocate violence (unlike another).

"Bhaal is dead." The assertion sounded not half so certain as it vibrated in the air around her.

 _Endure._ One step at a time, _'one day at a time,'_ Lacey had said. But when did it end? Ilmater suffered in eternal pain. Was that all which awaited her?

 _Endure._ Not living, not hoping, just surviving.

 _Endure._ Like a thud, the repetition vibrated a dull heavy beat within her, her head swimming in the sound.

Sinking. Darker, deeper.

One step at a time. Step-step-step and inside her head her feet pounded, running and running and getting nowhere, as Irenicus asked with cold amusement: _'Where do you think you are running to?'_ The blade in his hand glinted with icy promise; he stepped forward and his eyes disappeared into shadow.

 _'Don't let him!'_ Imoen's scream hung shrill in the air. _'Don't let him get me!'_

A figure stood before her (falling apart), his torn-apart body skinned and scarred, and shook his head with sorrow. "For our sins," he held out scarred arms, seams growing and splitting as they spread across him, "we must bear this."

She looked up at his face—faceless, _skin_ less—it warped into a mockery of a woman's face.

"You judged me for not caring about death? How little did mine mean to you?" _Tyrianna._ But as she collapsed, 'twas Zaviera who fell, blood bubbling from her neck.

Shaking her head, Sajantha took a step back.

The shadows all across the room coalesced, forming into one massive figure, imperious and imposing. _Irenicus._ "How many more will die before you accept the path before you? Follow. Follow, if only to protect those who die because of you."

Swaying, with a sick dropping lurch, Sajantha flung herself free. "It's not my fault. It's not my fault." Around her, bloody eyes, dead eyes stared, and her fingers tightened around the dagger, but the enemy wasn't anywhere in reach.

Organs strained, bulging beneath the slice of the knife. The knife—

 _'Because of you.'_

Her fingers spasmed open, and the blade fell to the floor.

In a moment, she was on her knees beside it, spittle in her tangling hair as she gagged on memories, on the stink of blood and offal, already fading. _Nightmare._ Just a nightmare. But still she shook.

The sudden rap upon the door jolted through her.

She wanted nothing else but to curl up, to shrink into the tiniest speck, unnoticeable, and she wanted to explode outward releasing all the sharp shards that fought for a place inside her—

But she got to her feet. And walked (stumbled) to the door.

A bearded face waited. Dark hair, familiar—

 _Anomen._ Anomen concerned and worried and reaching out—

And with a hiccuping breath, she half-dove, half-fell into him.

 _It's not my fault not my fault_ and he would believe her would keep holding her, close and safe and warm and solid and alive— _alive!—_ the resonance of it a victory, an anchor to pull her free of the shadows and madness at her back.

Morning already. Morning was safe.

"Are you alright?" The words brushed her ear. Even though his armor was between them, it made the arms rising around her reassuringly heavy as they settled on her back.

Keldorn had asked that the first night, as he pulled her free of that living nightmare. _'Are you alright?'_ She'd answered then (for once) with the truth. But the truth wasn't safe.

She stepped back, wiping at her eyes. "I… I'll be alright." Yes. It wasn't a lie, not really, for the nightmares had once more dissipated into the ether where they couldn't reach her (until she was alone).

Anomen wouldn't abandon her. (Not unless she gave him cause to.)

* * *

"You needn't apologize!" Sajantha hopped up the Order's stone steps after Anomen. "I'm here to see the both of you, and of course Keldorn's more free to indulge me." But that hadn't been the right way to reassure him, for Anomen still looked a bit pinched as he turned to face her.

"I'll try to get free as soon as I can," he promised.

"There's no need to be so serious about it. I'm happy to spend time with either of you!"

"It is just…" Anomen rubbed at his neck. "I mislike leaving you so."

So that was it—he was worried about her! Something between being pleased he cared and irritated that she kept showing weakness tugged within her. "I'm better, truly. After walking with you… a lot better." She smiled as if that could prove it, and maybe it could, for as much else as was confusing, she did feel safe around him. And the brilliant seaside sunrise. Sajantha squinted up at him.

"I am glad to hear it," he said gravely, holding the great door open for her.

"Thank you." Her tone matched his, heavy enough to carry a lot more with it.

"After Highbite," he vowed, and this time she smiled at his seriousness.

The day almost fell into a schedule reminiscent of Candlekeep, did her tutors there cover such topics as 'how to detect and subdue a vampire', something that paladins and paladins-in-training were uniquely suited to do, though Sajantha at least collected a couple tips she'd hopefully never need to use herself.

Keldorn kept her busy until Highbite, when he led her down one of the great marble halls to a crowded dining area. It wasn't that there was a shortage of open seats so much that the folk here took up so much _room;_ some of the men here were the size of two Candlekeep monks, easily, and many looked as if they'd have no trouble lifting two monks.

Wistfulness for the slight and nearsighted friends she'd left behind left a bitter taste on her tongue; she took another bite of the spicy roasted vegetables and focused on chewing, instead.

Beside her, Keldorn looked up from his own meal. "Ah, the Five Flagons must have conditioned your tongue." He gave a nod to the food. "Most northerners find this fare a bit overwhelming."

Taking a drink, Sajantha nodded, though it was hard to remember just what she had dined upon at the Flagons. The last time she'd eaten something so _spicy_ was easier to remember, from Edwin and his conjured Thayvian cuisine. After that, very little would manage to be 'overwhelming.'

"You have returned there?"

"What?" Why would… oh. Sajantha set down her fork. Oh, he must not believe she was still staying at the Copper Coronet and not the Flagons where they'd met. And 'twas certainly an unwelcome place to return to—to _admit_ to!—what would he think? But the Coronet was the only place she could stretch coins out so thin. "I don't suppose as it matters where I stay." That was a truth, if not much of one, shifting from the practical to the theoretical. "It's not as though I've a place to call my own." And she could never hope to belong someplace like this, with all she'd done and all that she had yet to do.

"Always having battle and worry thrust upon you, never in the possession of sanctuary… it is a difficult life you must lead." Keldorn let out a sympathetic sigh. "I miss it, truly, the little I have known of home and the Order."

"Home?" An image of Candlekeep appeared, dark and full of statues (shattering into pieces), and she shook her head to clear it. _'Home is with the people you care about.' Hadn't Imoen said that? But that couldn't matter now, either. "It's so far away, I don't think I'll ever reach it." Far away. All of it: so, so far away. She bit down hard on her lip. How much farther was Imoen?_

"Oh, Sajantha, leave your worries at the door, for once. I have been watching you, and… and praying for you, over this past while."

"Don't–" The pitch was wrong in her voice, too rushed too high, even the stumble in her words revealed just how close she was to crying. "Don't pray for me, Keldorn." What would Torm care of her troubles? "What's the point? I'm not… what if it's already too late?" He knew about Bhaal, aye, but there was so, so much more.

"It is never too late," he said softly.

 _'To save a life, sometimes death needs be delivered.'_ He'd said that once, how would he feel about her hunting someone down? Lurking in the shadows? How would he feel about… about… (Red, hot and thick, slipped through her hands.) Her fingers tightened into knots.

"I sense that you are searching desperately for a touchstone of some sort: something solid, to which you might cling."

She could not look at him. She tugged at her cloak, 'til it settled over her, and hugged her arms beneath it. "You can sense that?"

"Take care where you reach out to steady yourself." His hand settled on her shoulder. "Alone, I am no match for the essence of a dark god, but that is where faith comes in, is it not? I am old, but in what time I have left to me, I would help you forge a path of light into this world." Something lighter stirred within her, a fresh breath of wind to soothe her guilt. Keldorn's hand managed to be even more reassuring than even his words, as if just his touch could offer comfort enough.

"Thanks. For just—for just being here." She blinked away the warm spots in her eyes.

"Tomorrow I will take you to my home. You can meet my daughters." He clapped her shoulder, smiling as he straightened. "Now, go. Anomen awaits you on the practice field."

* * *

Sajantha pushed sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes.

"Enough, for now." Metal rasped as Anomen's sword slid into his sheath. "You tire. But this is a different tired than before, I think." They stepped off the practice field past the sparring recruits, though she lagged a step behind him.

Different? Aye, this fatigue did not drain quite so deeply. It had only taken a couple days at this to fall into what already felt a familiar pattern. "I feel different." Might her muscles be strengthening? Or was this added energy from something else?

"I think I just need someone to…" Take care of her? No! Gods, that could not be it, could it? Exactly what Edwin said she needed to avoid! But for the first time in months, the sick quiver in her heart had begun to quiet. So, she did; maybe she did need other people. Was that so very large a weakness? _Yes,_ the Edwin in her head insisted. "Someone to trust," she finished.

"You do not trust your companions?" Anomen pursed his lips, then nodded. "I can see why you would have reservations."

"No—it's not that. Exactly. I just… I don't know how comfortable I feel around them." When they only reminded her of her failures, of all they had sacrificed, all they had lost. Because of her. She dropped her chin as she returned her blade to its holster. Almost smoothly this time, but she still had to look as she did it.

"But you feel comfortable around me?"

She nodded.

Anomen didn't know any of that. He didn't know what she was (nor what she'd done) and perhaps she should tell him, shine a light through those dark corners of her soul, but right now he smiled at her and was not disgusted nor horrified nor afraid—but she was—she was such a coward, wasn't she? _Yes,_ Edwin agreed. But Anomen thought her something sweet and gentle and worth protecting… and maybe, just maybe, part of her still could be.

"Comfortable, aye." A smile tugged at her lips. _"When_ you're not being an overprotective goose."

His surprise kept him from spluttering overmuch, though his face tinged a bit pink. "I must apologize. It goes against all my training… my very nature… to stand aside whilst you are in danger."

Her smile grew heavy. "The danger's not going to go away," she said softly. "Not until we've found Imoen." _'Chaos shall be sewn in their footsteps.'_ Not so very likely after that, either.

"No." He cleared his throat. "Of course not. And I vow I will see you through it." He tilted his head, eyes twinkling. "Even if it means the occasional protection along the way."

"Anomen! Did you just make a joke?" She poked him in the side, grinning, and though he fended off her fingers from further attack, he grinned back.

The sounds of the practice field grew fainter as they stepped into the dappled shade of trees. Just on the borders of the Order's grounds, the gardened area looked the perfect spot to rest.

They sat down on a stone bench with a close view of the canals, and Sajantha leaned back with a sigh at the breeze that cooled her sweaty skin. "Do you think I could ever be so good with a sword as you?"

"I've been working at this for half my life. You've a sharp eye and quick reflexes that should serve you well, if you can invest so much time in it."

"I don't suppose as I have that much time." Sajantha bit her lip. "I don't know that I'm really so good at anything."

"What else would you wish to work at?" He glanced over at her. "You studied music," he prompted.

That again. Her face heated. She'd not touched that looted harp yet, save to relocate it to a pile on the floor.

Sajantha smoothed her skirts, though they didn't quite reach her knees. Strange, them so much shorter, even if the leggings kept her skin covered, it felt as if something was missing. "I wasn't anything more than adequate."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Not that you know anything about music." Half-tease, half-reminder.

"I know something about being too hard on yourself." Anomen didn't respond to it as a tease, staring at his hands with a sudden seriousness. "On always worrying you're never going to be good enough."

"Oh? Who were you trying to impress? Your father?"

Lips pinched together, he let out a sigh through his nose, gaze shifting out over the waters. "I do not know there is a point to it now, but aye. I… think I was. For my young life."

"I suppose it's one of those things that never really goes away, feeling like you need to prove yourself." She kicked her feet beneath the bench. "There was a man when I was growing up—always judging me, nothing I could do would please him." At least now 'twas clear why. "Your father sounds quite like him."

"If so, he must have been cruel indeed. Difficult for any child."

No. It all made sense now. That should take the sting from it, learning why he was like that: Ulraunt had known she was a Bhaalspawn; he'd just been waiting for her to slip. And all that had happened—all the blood in her wake—was only more proof of it, that he had been right to mistrust her.

But Anomen had not been born with such a stain upon his soul: "Whatever your father held against you, it was surely some fault in his own life that made him lash out; you never deserved that. And he never deserved so devoted a son as you, to love him despite it."

"Nor a daughter like my sister, nor a wife like my mother. I fear even beneath the ground, my mother is better off without him."

"But she must have loved him once. And he, her."

"I wonder. He certainly loved _controlling_ her. 'Twas against his wishes that she gained me entry into the priesthood, after he refused to sponsor me to knighthood. It tore at her, to defy him. Even on my behalf. Why would she have remained with him so long? I had thought it duty, but… aye."

He bowed his head, a lock of hair spilling loose to curl over his eyes. "She surely loved some part of him I could never see. There are those whom love is wasted on—who do not deserve it."

"I think…" she looked down, "those who don't understand it often need it the most."

"It is you who does not understand." But there was a smile in his voice, and he touched her chin 'til she raised it back up. "You are too sweet. Some are beyond reaching."

"Anomen! There you are!" They both straightened; a lanky boy ran towards them, out-of-breath. "Sir Ryan's a-fixing to go over your next mission."

"Thank you, Marcel." Anomen rose.

She stood with him. "Duty calls."

"Indeed. I did not expect it to call quite so suddenly, though." He frowned. "I apologize I've not the time to escort you myself, but I will see that someone walks you home."

 _Home._ Her heart sank. "That's not—that's not necessary. Really."

His eyes darkened, brooking no protest. "I—" And then his face and voice both change, dlighter. "Sajantha, would you do the honor of allowing Marcel your company? He and Joce need to pick up some supplies for me in the market. You may as well walk together as far as the Coronet."

She lifted her eyebrows in mock warning, letting him know his little maneuvering hadn't gone unnoticed, but he responded with such a pleased expression that she couldn't help but laugh. He was making an effort, and that counted for something.

"It would be my pleasure."

The messenger's—Marcel's—face lit red. He couldn't have been older than thirteen, all arms and legs and energy. "Right, um. Sajantha? I'll go and get Joce, I will; you just wait right here." He took off at a trot, glancing back as if afraid she would disobey.

She looked up at Anomen. "I appreciate it."

"I wouldn't have anyone under my charge walk these streets alone."

She scoffed. "I appreciate your _listening_ to me."

"Take care of yourself," he answered, and the words sounded so very different than the ones Edwin had left with her: Where the latter was an order, direct and to-the-point, the former was a heartfelt request, warm and utterly lacking sharpness.

* * *

The low sun peeked between the buildings as they walked through the Bridge District in glimpses of orange.

Sajantha took in a deep breath of the salt-tinged breeze. No skinners remained anymore to pollute the air, but she paid careful attention to her boots and the gritty cobblestone path as they passed the tanners' dark entry.

"So you're training with Anomen, then?" Marcel sounded half-disbelieving, half-impressed, and all curious.

"Indeed I am." She looked up to find his expression matched his voice. "You, too?"

"Yes'm. He's right strict, he is."

"I bet. And I bet he wouldn't be half so good if he wasn't." Like Edwin, it was that kind of discipline and focus that made him so reliably competent.

"You haven't seen nothing." Where Marcel looked an unbridled colt all ready to charge ahead, Joce was a handful years older and as placid as his steady gait suggested: a good counterpoint to the younger boy; Anomen knew his recruits well. Joce shook his head, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he glanced over at her. "He's taking it easy on you, miss."

"Well, of course he is! I've only just begun." But something in his voice sounded almost scornful. Towards Anomen or to her?

"Mayhap, but that sure isn't how he is with other recruits, if he's not yet knocked ye arse over teakettle—"

"Joce! Hush it now; she's a lady."

Joce blinked. "We're taking her to the Coronet, aye? She's no lady."

Not a bit of it untrue, yet warmth still flushed her cheeks. "I'm not a noble, no." Sajantha smoothed her skirts. "You needn't watch your language about me, in any case." Yet how quickly Anomen had jumped at Korgan back in the tombs for his tongue! Though that had been an entirely different subject matter, leaving the both of them blushing.

"Out of the way, traveler!" The tinny voice muffled through a helm bade her look up: a guard was gesturing at her. For… oh!

The groaning weight of an overlaid wagon rumbled by—far too close!—everyone had gotten out of its way save her and her distracted thoughts. Sajantha hurriedly stepped aside, and Marcel darted after her; they flattened themselves against the bridge's iron fencing by the soldier, and waited for it to pass. Wild in the ocean breeze, her hair whipped at her face as the clop of hooves and spitting up of pebbles left them behind.

She blinked through the grit and dust that followed the wagon, and as it cleared—as the figures on the other side of it came into focus—her heart lurched.

Her fingers twisted into Marcel's sleeve. "It's him!" For once she'd not even been on-edge thinking of him, but it could be no one else: the same dark complexion as Zaviera, the same thick black hair, the same dark eyes, though one was covered with an eye-patch, bejeweled with a garish ruby to stare fire.

"Who?" Marcel squinted. "One of them noble fellers?"

"The one with the eye-patch." Who else could it be? "He's wanted for… for murder." Being flanked by two initiates of the Order was _not_ the best time to find him—not with what she planned—but she had to explain _something_ for freezing up and blocking traffic. A horse blew out a disapproving snort as its rider dodged around her.

Joce wasn't impressed. "Sounds like a garrison matter, miss." At her other side, he tugged at her hand, but she pulled free of them both.

"The garrison?" Her laugh was tired, flat. "The garrison would miss a beholder's eye!"

"Wanted for murder, you say?" The tinny voice behind her didn't sound very amused. _Oops._ "And what jurisdiction is this?"

"One where guards don't do their jobs, else he'd have been hanged already." And wouldn't that have been simpler.

Behind the slit in his visor, the guard's eyes narrowed. "That there's Lord Isaea Roenall, Captain of the Guard. I assure you, he does no business with outlaws. He'll clear this right up."

"N-no, that's alright—" Damn, damn, _damn._ This ship was sinking fast _._

Marcel stared at her with wide eyes. "If he's who you think he is, we oughta check him out, right?"

The protest choked in her throat, for the two nobles were already heading over. Gods _damn it._ Fadrique was cozy with the _guard-captain?_ The last guard-captain she'd had the misfortune of meeting had been one of Sarevok's lackeys—who'd nearly killed Imoen. All the muscles in her back tensed, but she tilted up her chin. Time to face the music.

"What's this, then?" The Captain of the Guard raised a hand as he slowly swayed towards them. His gaze fell on Sajantha and he gave her a smile. "How may we be of service, madam?"

"I fear your companion is a murderer most foul, Captain. He destroyed a family! The Saavedras. When their daughter wouldn't marry him, he killed her lover and then her brother." And who knew what had happened to her father, once Zaviera wasn't in the picture to marry.

The captain did not so much as glance at his companion, who was staring at Sajantha with distant amusement. _A snake,_ Zaviera had called him, and so did he look as if he might lazily strike, as if victory were assured. "You saw him do this?"

"Me? I—no, but—"

Fadrique shook his head almost sadly. "Accusations without proof are called slander, my dear. The fall of the Saavedras fortune was tragic, yes. However, the investigation revealed no ties to me."

"Do you wish to press charges, m'lord?" the guard asked.

Him—? _Him—!_ Gods, this damned city—! Sajantha stifled the urge to shout, curling her fingers into fists.

He was—he was so blatantly _lying,_ and the sound of it shivered her nerves; every note in his voice rang false, off-key, like a pitch below whatever it ought be. A vibration built inside her, whirring as heat surged through her.

Paladins could detect untruth, couldn't they? Gods, please let Marcel or Joce feel _something_ of this! "You're trying to tell me you don't have a habit of killing those in your way?" Any little slip, any hint of falsity: she was too far in to back out now. "To get what you want?"

"I do wonder from whence you could have _possibly_ heard such things." The dismissive tone of his voice matched his bored face, but then his head tilted, a thoughtful look crossing over his features. "Whoever _have_ you been talking to?"

"No doubt 'tis the gossip-monger spreading such vile tales who should be brought before justice," the guard-captain said.

The soldier nodded. "I'm going to have to ask you to calm down, ma'am, and not waste any more of these gentlemen's time."

"It is no trouble," the guard-captain said grandly. "We cannot hold the cognitive failings of the lower classes against them, can we?"

Marcel's face turned as red as Sajantha's felt. A small mercy, for the two boys weren't wearing any sort of livery to mark their loyalties: at least the Order's name wouldn't be dragged into this mess.

"We will pardon the girl her ignorance so long as this mistake is not made again." The guard-captain's gaze stabbed hers with a piercing blue. "Feel free to lodge a complaint against the proper authority. That would be _me."_

Sajantha bit down on her tongue. Brushing her off, like her words were nothing; like she was nothing! And Fadrique was just standing there, so damnably unruffled; he was the reason that Zaviera hid crying, the reason she'd ended up in this life in the first place! Something inside Sajantha sobbed (screamed), begging to be set free.

Someone touched her shoulder, and prickles washed down her spine; she spun—nearly swinging—to step out of range, sucking in a quick breath.

Joce eyed her as if she were a loose horse about to bolt. "Let's get you back to the Coronet, yeah?"

"The Coronet, hm?"

She tossed back a glance only to find Fadrique watching, wearing that infuriating calmness like a smirk that needed to be smacked off.

Gods, the only way this could have possibly gone worse were if she'd ended up in a jail cell. For he'd won this round, hadn't he?

And now he knew her face.

* * *

=E=

The hair on Edwin's neck and arms still rose with the electric charge left in the air, and along with the burning scent of ozone served as persistent reminder of the earlier lightning exhibition. (As if he could possibly forget with the sparking white still staining his eyelids with every blink!) A druid duel was… quite the spectacle.

 _"Cat_ got your tongue?"

The rogue's unnecessary quip earned him a perfunctory glare, but in truth it was difficult to divert attention from the disturbing sight of the Harper who had so recently eviscerated her opponent. Moments before tearing out the woman's throat. With her teeth.

"There is much that still requires healing," a bloodstained but whisker-free Jaheira said, "but this grove will return to its peace."

Edwin's nose wrinkled. She knew. Of course she knew! But still she did nothing, did not wipe her mouth; in fact, a smile stretched slowly over her face and he made an effort not to shudder. "(Disgusting animals, whatsoever forms they walk in.)"

And the Harper once more stood upon two legs, but seemed as indifferent as her beast-form had to the blood that painted her from chin to chest. _Ugh._ These druids were unbelievably off-putting. Surely bathing in blood could not be healthy, nor savaging an opponent so thoroughly that some of the shadow druid ended up outside the bounds of the dueling ring.

"You rival an axe-wielding berserker in your choice of…" Edwin flicked a wet piece from him, "accessory. (No doubt rolling around in gore is somehow part of this 'natural' order.)"

The male druid opened his mouth before any could silence him: "Nature herself is the natural state of the earth; like a bird breaking through the intricate detail of a spider's web, it is humans that disrupt her patterns."

"Birds, is it? How about this: 'Like a bird enamored of its own voice, you trill a constant stream of nonsense.' " Edwin turned back to the Harper. "And you, are you so unevolved you lack even the precepts of basic hygiene? Residing under a _rock_ would not excuse this poor upkeep. (Such lackluster maintenance was not observed whilst her husband was yet around, I note.)"

"What?" The snarling beast may as well have returned; she held in the same coiled fury. "You dare speak of Khalid to me, Wizard?" Yes, she still carried the panther within her, in this feral rage and in those bared pink teeth, small though they were. "Have you such a wish to die?"

Even with a Stoneskin spell awaiting activation, the druid's proximity was… unsettling. "What I wish is for us to be quit of this place as soon as possible. (If certain members of our party are less fragrant for the return journey, 'twould be but an added boon.)"

Jaheira (at last) wiped a rag across her face, and while this did little more than smear the blood, she somehow managed to summon a mouthful of it—which she spat out at his feet. _Charming._

"Ah," the barbarian buffoon heaved a sigh, "Boo likes this place. The acorns here are delicious! So he says."

"Perhaps our druids might find a way to make them more palatable for the rest of us, hm?" The rogue had more patience than any other here to humor him. "And I have heard _cat_ tails are quite fine to forage," he added (in what he likely thought was a sly voice).

Ugh. Who wished to become embroiled in converse with these two? "I will never be so desperate as to dig about in the dirt for my meals, but you are welcome to do as you like. _Later."_ Edwin swept past them, past the other druids who had remained back far enough not to bother with. " 'Tis time to return."

Though she had very likely been about to share the same sentiment, Jaheira only glared.

* * *

=S=

The morning sun lit up the domed roofs and spindled towers into a sparkling sea of gold: they weren't in the slums anymore.

The bridge through Athkatla separated more than just south from north, it separated the haves from the have-nots—by force, if necessary—abundantly clear by the sheer number of guards they encountered. Who knew the city employed so many after all! The Gem District, of manicured lawns and white sculptures, patrolled by soldiers as shining as the bubbling fountains, was an entirely different world than the one she'd left; even the air was cleaner, clearer, higher as it sat from the rest of the city. Of course the nobles here would not share even the same _ground_ as the peasantry.

A man in armor nodded at them as they walked by. If she were here without the esteemed presence of Keldorn at her side, would they allow her to so easily pass? Any given patron belonging to the Coronet would be accosted at once! But what a wasteful extravagance, to purchase clothing simply to better blend in, even when the guidebook—and Edwin—insisted, 'twas difficult to reconcile the cost of finery.

Yet every step upon the paved path, winding through lush greenery and grand many-storied mansions and golden domed towers, only underscored how out-of-place she was. The clothing Edwin had recommended for her was surely expensive enough for its armored enchantments, but 'twas clearly no flowing silks and layered gems like the noblewomen they passed; airy laughs soared by them on the breeze.

Sajantha smoothed her hair back behind her ears.

The Firecam estate sat raised upon the district's edge, with a great drop on one side to the middling houses well below, but enough trees between them softened the view. She stepped back from the edge as Keldorn reached the door.

He spoke warmly with the servant who greeted them at the door, however flustered she seemed to see him. The old woman left them in the entry, hurrying to summon his wife.

A small fountain warbled softly before them. Sajantha shifted. Best not scuff her boots upon this polished tile. "You've a lovely home." Despite the flurry of servants—as if their arrival were so very unsettling to the normal order of things!—a peace underneath hung in the air, the kind of calm that bespoke comfort.

Keldorn smiled, but didn't answer, his attention all for the figure approaching.

Her gown sweeping the ground with every straight-backed stride, a tall woman entered the room, and her stern gaze fell upon Sajantha but briefly. "So, who is this?" Beauty still clear whatever her age, only a frown blemished her features, deepening the light wrinkles on her face. "A heathen you converted in Calimport, a traveling pilgrim you stumbled across in Saradush?"

"Maria, this is Sajantha of Candlekeep. I'm sure you recall hearing of the heroes of Baldur's Gate?"

Whether or not she did, she did not answer. "You've been gone for two months, then I hear you've been in town for days without even informing your family?"

"I sent a runner. Maria, I was on the trail of an evil committing vile murders in this very city, and—"

With her tight face and still expression, his wife was not impressed. "There's always some evil, always some danger you're hot on the trail of."

"Lady Firecam," Sajantha stepped forward, "he saved me. Your husband saved me. He's been helping people who are in trouble, people who are hurting. I know that may not matter to you right now. But for some people, it's their whole life."

Her lips thinned. "You don't need to tell me that my husband is a good person, that he has a good heart! You think I do not love him for this? You think _I_ am not hurting—do I not deserve the same regard as this parade of strangers? Gods! I wonder often if everyone has his heart but me. Keldorn…" She took in a shaky breath, tried again. "Keldorn, I've been seeing someone else."

"You… what?" The strength sagged out of him in a single heartbeat, his slumped shoulders making him shorter in his surprise. "Gods, Maria! I… Do not tell me this." He looked at once ready to run, as if the words could be left behind, and far too drained to do so.

"What do you wish me to tell you?" Her voice was soft. "Do you wish me to tell you that even though you have left me here alone I still need someone? The girls still need a father? Do you wish me to tell you he took them to the circus? That he—"

No longer reeling, Keldorn only shook his head. "What is his name." Carved from granite, Keldorn's face, and his stiff posture spoke the same.

Maria folded back in on herself. "William—Sir William of Thorpe. I… I beg of you, don't hurt him. If I can't have you—please." Her hand came up to hide her face, her shoulders shaking. "Please, let me have something."

The face that turned towards Sajantha wasn't one she'd ever seen, this Keldorn with eyes flashing, face red. His armor did not weigh him down as he sped from the room, sending the door slamming open.

With a gasp, Maria knelt on the floor, dress pooled around her, face hidden behind her hands. A young girl peeked out from behind a door, then disappeared when she caught Sajantha's eye.

"I'm sorry," Sajantha whispered. To all of them, to none of them. An intruder, a stranger, she did not belong there. She followed her friend outside; 'twas easy enough to tell where he'd gone, even without the string of stunned servants in his wake.

Keldorn stood, head bowed away from the late afternoon sun, with hands clenched. "Curse the dictates of honor!" A vein pulsed in his forehead. "Sir William shall be hanged, and my love imprisoned. There is no other outcome."

"I may not know so much as a paladin about honor…" She lifted a hand to his arm. "But I think that's what the _law_ dictates. I don't think that's the same as honor."

"You are right: you do not understand." But there was no scorn in his voice, only resignation and the clipped tone of a fury but barely subdued. "You know of Torm, yes? Duty. Obedience. She has betrayed the law—our oaths—as she has betrayed me. The very _gods_ demand this be brought before the courts."

"I do know something of Torm; I've read about him. 'Question unjust laws.' That's a tenet, isn't it? So he knows that the law isn't always right just because it's the law. And I _know_ there's things more important than laws and rules." Would that be heresy, to a paladin? "Love," she whispered. "Love is one of those things. It's more important than anything! She still loves you. Is that honor, to turn your back on that, on all you two have made together?"

"She turned her back on us first—on our life—you heard her." His voice was low enough to growl. "She has chosen this William. A good man, I always thought him, but…"

"He wasn't her choice—he was her _second_ choice. Couldn't you see it? She loves _you._ She wants _you._ Everything she did, she did for lack of you. Does that deserve punishment? Does William deserve to die, for trying to make her happy?" Who could pretend there was aught righteous about that!

Keldorn's lips pinched tight, his whole face gripped in tension.

"You have to choose love. Before all else. Before vengeance or punishment, or anything. Vengeance won't fill you up; it'll only leave you empty. And without them? That's empty, too. Keldorn. That's not a life. Whatever you can do, to get them back—you have to at least try."

Keldorn stared at the ground a long moment before raising his eyes to her. "You are so young, to be so wise." He tried to smile.

She tried to smile back, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "I learned from experience." Vengeance… vengeance didn't fix anything.

"The most brutal of teachers." Keldorn gave a nod. "I will take your advice, Sajantha. And thank you for it. Still, I would speak with this William. Let us see if there is sense that can be made of this."

* * *

"The Mithrest Inn. He is often here." Keldorn held open the door, and they stepped from the squawking streets of the Promenade into the soft and hushed entry.

Dim light flickered from the torches ensconced on the wall, dancing in time with the candles on the deep burgundy tables. Piano music played softly—an enchantment to muffle it?—the large instrument was right at the entrance to greet them and ought have been far louder than its tinkling tones.

Attention fell upon them both in the form of narrowed eyes, raised noses. Clearly they did not belong with this crowd of rich fabrics and jeweled turbans and gold glinting from everyone; the muted lighting did not at all soften the pointed scrutiny they underwent.

Her vest—still stained and sweaty from practice—was surely too tight and the torches in the room too hot, for how could their stares alone render her thus? Face warm, she followed Keldorn. The paladin had not noticed their cool welcome enough to be halted by it, for he had narrowed in upon his quarry in the crowd.

"Can I help you, sir?" one of the servers spoke to Keldorn. Without looking at her.

Keldorn ignored the server, stared past him. "Sir William."

"Ah." The man at the table behind him rose. "My Lord Firecam. I was hoping to speak with you."

"Then you know why I am here."

"I know what drove you here, though I do not know what you will be doing." Calm, this William, but he stood straighter as Keldorn approached. As well he might, for William was slender of stature, and the fully-armored paladin stood taller than even Edwin, an intimidating bearing even when he wasn't hovering so near to hostility.

"You—" Keldorn's composure broke, teeth grit tight together. "What do you _think_ I should be doing? You defiled my children with your presence, my wife with your—your—gods! I cannot even…!"

William looked down at his hands before holding them out, palms up. "I prefer to think of it differently. What is done in pursuit of love and beauty cannot be judged through so dark a lens. But Lady Maria does not love me; there is no need to battle me for her heart whilst you yet hold it. She sought someone to fill your absence. Did you forget you had a family? For they felt forgotten." He gave his head a shake. "If you love her, my lord, if you would keep her… best let her know. And never let her forget it."

"I…" Keldorn turned, gaze traveling to the door.

"He's right." Sajantha touched his arm. "Go back. Go back and tell her how much you love her, and how you wouldn't know how to live without her. Go back to them. Family's important; it's everything. You only get one."

He glanced back. "This might be awhile. Perhaps you had best…"

Oh. _Oh._ "I—of course. Don't worry; take as much time as you need."

But he hesitated.

"Go," she managed to laugh, "go, get out of here! You're chomping at the bit, I know. I'll be fine." The Coronet was in the opposite direction from his home; he'd not be able to escort her if he wished to make it before evening fell. And he'd been parted from his wife long enough.

"We will meet here tomorrow. Highmorn?"

"Sure, aye. As you wish. _Go_." She gave him a smile, and a small one lightened his bearing, quickened his steps as he left the room.

Sir William stared at the door as it closed, a ghost of a smile on his face, though a bitter tug pulled down at its edges as he returned to his seat. "Their love can only be stronger for it. I hope someday he might thank me."

"Why did you do it?"

He cocked his head. "You wish to lecture me on morally righteous behavior?"

"No, I mean… why did you choose to get involved with someone whose heart you couldn't ever hold?"

" 'Choose?' Did I miss the part where the heart gives us the option to refuse its choice? Alas. Do you know so little of love?"

"I…" Heat crept up the back of her neck. "I've read all sorts of tales, you know? But I don't suppose as that means anything. All I think I know keeps turning out wrong."

"There may be things stories can prepare you for. But love will never be among them." Introspective, his gaze was lost into his glass. At least he wasn't laughing at her. "Stay, and have a drink with me."

"No, I—thank you, but I need to be getting back. It'll be dark soon, and I've a ways to go." And the slums weren't the sort of place guards were keen on patrolling.

* * *

The sinking sun lent the Promenade a distinctly golden glow, outlining the still-plentiful patrons in its radiance. Such a crowd here! All milling about in a casual lack of urgency, so—so very _careless_ , as if none of what had occurred so very near them meant anything, not where the circus tent had been taken over, not where the exploded stone marked Irenicus's collapsed dungeon.

While they skirted away from the upturned ground of the mage's massacre, the citizens centered 'round the circus tent, eager once the danger had passed to partake in its lingering mystery. These folk would have been content to leave the circus and her patrons to their fate, never interceding, and only now investigated to share the thrill of secondhand peril.

And now, as it darkened, they'd return to the people waiting for them. Lovers. Loved ones. _'Home is with the people you care about.'_

And what did she have? Where did she have to go to? (To whom?)

Everyone walked about, so—so _willfully ignorant—_ and it didn't matter to them who had been lost here, who had died here, or whether all of them would have been slain had the circus spell not been stopped. No, they'd pick up the items on their shopping lists, share the local gossip, gawk and laugh at the circus and at the animals trapped in their cages.

And then they'd go home.

How dare they—how _dare they_ , when she could not—

Sajantha gasped in air, pain searing through her head, through her chest; her fingers clenched dirt and grit beneath her nails. Dirt. Ground. She was on the ground, on her knees; the shadows of people passing her (ignoring her) darkened her vision.

They ignored everything, didn't they, like the destruction just days before, just steps away: the rubble that had yet to be removed, a reminder screaming in a voice no one else could hear, that trembled through every vein in her body and shook down her arms.

 _Breathe._ Just breathe.

"Are you alright?"

Sajantha's gaze snapped up: someone stared down at her, back-lit by the setting sun, her features shadowed. But with a voice soft and familiar—the elf from the circus—the shy girl she had brushed aside.

Sajantha nodded mutely, clambering to her feet.

Aerie straightened with her. "You're the girl who helped us! I must thank you again, for saving me—for saving the circus." She turned a pretty pink, as if the color of the sunset teased forth onto her cheeks.

'Girl'? As she'd just thought of the elf—the _full_ -blooded elf—who could easily be four times her age, if not more.

"I'm sorry for Uncle Quayle, before—truly!" Aerie spoke quickly. "I… I know why you don't wish me to accompany you–" With hope, she did not! "–and I'm sure you're right; I've never really been outside in the world, hardly left the circus, even!" Her voice lowered, her eyes lowered. "I… I know it's not all marvel and adventures out there."

Sajantha swallowed, looking away. "No," she managed, "it's not."

"If you need help, you must simply say the word!" the elf pleaded. "I hate to see anyone in pain, in trouble… if there is _anything_ I can do… Her gaze drifted down towards the bloodied shoulder of Sajantha's cloak.

Sajantha bit her lip. Surely she could come up with something, anything which would end this train of thought; she drew up her cloak with a sweeping flourish and dug deep for her wit. "I thank you for your kindness, sweet elf. That such a gentle soul should continue spreading kindness is payment enough."

Aerie looked both embarrassed and delighted. "You remind me almost of the bards with that air!" She giggled.

' _Almost a bard.'_ Well, 'twas true enough.

* * *

After a day spent amidst perfumed gardens and all the soft richness of upper-class stations, the thick air in the Coronet hit twice as hard when Sajantha stepped within its grimy walls.

"Oy, it's the little adventurin' girl." The man tugged the lip of his hat down over greasy hair, giving her a leer. "How ye be, lass?"

No! Not _him_ again. The Coronet's price was worth putting up with some things, but…

Sajantha bowed her head, folding her arms up, walking faster.

"Miss me?" he continued, walking along with her. "Couldn't stay away, eh?"

Ugh! How did these drunken lechers always maneuver to block her path? Too close to pretend she didn't see them, she knocked against a table in an attempt at a dodge. "I'm not in the mood."

"Not in the mood? You hear that, boys? She ain't in the mood! That just means you need a little convincing." His arm snagged at her as she passed. "C'mere and—"

 _"No."_ She jerked away. "That's not what it means. Leave me alone." _The stairs, the stairs, just get to the stairs._

"Oh?" His friends blocked her in against a table, the stink of stale sweat and leather overpowered by the sour stench of ale. "What are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?"

She couldn't dodge, couldn't move any more around them. Couldn't pass. What _was_ she going to do? _Gods._

Cold crept up her back, down through her flexed fingers. Daggers at their hips, but none wore full armor. Armpits uncovered (axillary artery) legs uncovered (femoral artery). _No._ She snapped her hand closed before it edged to her hilt. (Throats opened slashed jugular choking gasping bubbling red—) _No no no._

She tore her gaze away with a gasp. There—on the other side of them— "B-Bernard!" she called through them, and the innkeep's assistant lumbered over.

"Ye're Jaheira's friend, ain't ye? What can I do for ye?" Bigger than the others—at least in circumference—Bernard eyed the men, who'd taken a few steps back. "There a problem here?"

They shrugged. "We was just having a little fun, is all."

Sajantha grimaced. " _You_ were having fun. I wasn't."

"No sense of humor, huh. What're you doing in here, if you don't want the attention?"

Their ringleader tipped his hat at her again. "Next time, then."

She ascended the staircase to her room, their stares hot on her back, hot as the blood still pounding through her (the blood that wished to spill their own).

She locked herself into her room.

* * *

Lightning cut the battling figures into sharp relief. Blades and spells flashing, clashing, the entire hillside lit up. A silhouette that should be familiar, but it was not Sarevok wielding the blade, no, nor even Irenicus and his knives.

A voice filled the air, like a distant rumble of thunder. ' _Follow, if only to protect those that fall because of you.'_

Warmth dribbled over chilled steel. Slick hands could not grasp the hilt.

Light, there, on the other side of the rise: it gave a glow behind the hill. She staggered forward. Upward. Bodies scattered, mixed with boulders to clutter the grassy ground. Some face-down. Some—recognizable.

Dynaheir stared up, sightless. _'More pieces than thine may fall.'_

Another body, this torn open from collar to groin—she shut her eyes before she could see his face—and stepped on something soft. (Someone.) But as she looked closer, stared into his blank gray eyes, his features changed. Not Gorion's, no.

Keldorn's death-pale face was strangely peaceful. _'We can help what we become.'_

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _I know I didn't end up going crazy into Edwin's POV adventures or anything but thanks to Winding Warpath and Kyn for some ideas/inspiration with how to handle things way back when! JAHEIRA HULK MODE, RAWR._

 _And since I can't send you a PM, special thanks to guest reviewer Ng who zoomed right through BG1 and 2; it was so much fun reading your comments as you went along and I'm so happy you took the time to let me know what you think! :D_

 _I still feel like everything is a giant mess urgalkjdlkfjf though at least I am staying on schedule posting?! Thanks to everyone sticking with it as we get to the parts I'll be more confident at/excited for! :)_


	26. Dissolution

=S=

 _'Highmorn,'_ Keldorn had said. And a peek into the main area marked it still dark: she had hours yet before their meeting Time. Time to _think,_ only there wasn't anything remotely pleasant to think about, not when she still had to do something about Fadrique. Best friends with the guard-captain, gods! His death would certainly be investigated. How was she supposed to do this (alone)?

'Best friends.'

She took in a shaky breath, rubbed at her eyes. Back home, back… before… she'd always played the harp to calm herself. Back when her magic leaked out with her emotions instead of closing itself off out-of-reach. Might she… mightn't she try it now? Surely she could do something to release this awful feeling creeping beneath her skin.

Sajantha settled into her bed, harp in her lap, and leaned back against her pillow. Then shifted. Strange, even the weight of it was strange—but she wasn't used to it, that was all; how long had it been? _Day after day no days no lines just a blur—_

No. This was to get her mind _off_ that.

She took in a deep breath closed her eyes, let the tension melt from her chest to her toe-tips, 'til her shoulders were loose, her arms, her wrists, her hands. Her fingers. She stretched out her fingers, poised above the harp-strings, and paused. What to play?

So very many songs did she know (or used to) to choose from. But she couldn't pick anything that reminded her of death or loss or pain, nothing that reminded her of her father, of Miirym, of Imoen…

What to play? Too many choices, yet nothing came to mind.

Stupid, this was stupid; it was only a harp and she was being silly. It didn't have to mean anything! Just play a scale: she only had to draw her hand across it, a smooth and practiced motion flowing like—

Sound screeched, a low grinding through her teeth then high piercing through her ears; it kept ringing about her skull even as she'd stopped, a numbness vibrating through her fingers up to her teeth.

Shouts clashed loudly out in the hall and someone cursed, muffled but mad.

Sajantha's breath hiccuped in. The harp-strings had stilled, but something sinister waited in the now-pulsing silence. She flung the instrument as far as she could; it hit the wall with a thud. She shouldn't have, _she shouldn't have,_ of course she shouldn't have, and now she could hardly even catch her breath.

 _'I don't know that there is enough time in a mortal's life to pursue all of what you listed,'_ Anomen smiled. _'But you can work towards at least one of them.'_

No. No, she couldn't be anything any longer, not when this song in her blood sang such a different tune.

What… what _was_ that? An enchantment? Cursed—was it cursed?

Or… might it be _her?_

Sajantha stared at her fingers. Gods. _Gods,_ what was wrong with her?

* * *

Still early, but the gray day did not look as if it would be allowing much sun through even given a chance. Sajantha frowned up at the sky.

Anomen would have been by to collect her already if he'd been free; she'd waited just long enough that she'd had to hurry through the jangling wagons and quick-moving pedestrians that made up the morning traffic. Everyone seemed to know where they were going, dodging about with swift certainty; 'twas all Sajantha could do not to be nearly run over by a wagon again.

But at last the crowd broke when they reached the Promenade and had the space to disperse. Sajantha scanned the area for a tall-enough figure. Without his armor, Keldorn wouldn't much stand out—aside from his height, fortunately. Ah, there!

Within a few moments she managed to close the distance, "Keldorn!" and when he turned back to look at her, he almost stole her breath. His eyes were bright, filled with a sparkle she'd not seen since—since—

Since his eyes had been on the face of another's.

"A grand morn to you." Light on his feet, he hopped up the steps beside the Mithrest Inn's entrance.

"I take it the reconciliation went well?" As if she required him beaming in agreement to answer.

His nods held such a youthful exuberance he looked years younger as he held the door open for her. "I intend to take this opportunity to devote myself to my family with the same dedication I served the Order. It has been decided: I'm to submit my resignation. And once I am not honor-bound to your—"

Like her feet had grown roots, Sajantha halted in the doorway. "Keldorn. I told you… that's not 'honor.' Standing in the way of love, of your family? I could never do that to anyone, never mind someone who mattered to me." Such a vibrancy to him, as if he'd stolen all the sunlight from the foggy day for himself. "How could I keep you from them?"

And there the line came back to crease his brow. "I would not leave you like this."

'Like this'? When he didn't know half of it, didn't know more than that a mage had stolen her friend. "But you have to. I can't handle any more guilt." Gods, the way he smiled! It tugged at her, some tightness wound inside her threatening to unravel. "I'll feel better, knowing you're with them, making them happy. They deserve it. You deserve it."

His eyes searched hers. "And what of you?"

"They need their father. I had one. I—I was so lost without him." She shook her head. "I know what it's like to lose one; I'd not wish that upon anyone." (How many fathers had she killed? How many families destroyed with a single death? _'What is the count at now?'_ )

"I'll be praying for you." He offered the words as if he wished to give her far more, as if he hadn't quite decided.

"Don't worry about me—I'll go bother Anomen at the Order; I've at least a couple friends in the city. And you've a whole family just holding their breath for your attention; you can't leave them again so soon as this! Don't make them wait any longer."

And somehow he stood straighter, as if a weight had been lifted from him. "Come visit. I should like to introduce you under better circumstances."

That would not happen. The way they had looked at her… his family could only view her as a threat, intent on stealing their father from them. Rightfully so.

"I'll miss you. Stay well." _Stay alive._ If he came with her, he'd not remain either.

She reached out to embrace him. No armor between them. His chest was so much broader, but if she closed her eyes, _almost…_

"This has the feel of loosing a lamb to the wolves," he spoke over her shoulder as he held her. "Sajantha... what of my own guilt? What kind of man would I be—what kind of friend—to desert you now?"

Heat filled her eyes, burned in her nose as she swallowed back tears. She didn't let go. He couldn't see her face if she didn't let go. "They need you more than I. You can't replace a father. It was selfish of me to try." Selfish, aye. So, so selfish to wish him as bereft a family as she—a horrible thought, an unworthy one—if he could read her mind, how appalled would he be?

Keldorn's expression was soft as he released her, stepped back. "You have friends enough; should you ask it, they would all rise to stand beside you. I hope you will come to me if you should need anything."

"Thank you. But you've helped enough already." Too much, just enough to remind her of all she didn't have.

"Shall we have tea, then?" He gestured to the door.

Sitting there across from him for an hour? While he practically vibrated with this energy, this _love,_ that didn't belong to her? "It's alright. I'll save the coin and go see Anomen at the Order; I told him I'd be by." Which wasn't a terrible sort of falsehood, not if it would save her from falling to pieces here. The threat of tears burned the back of her throat.

"Anomen, of course." That lovely light twinkled in his eyes, and it took a moment for his countenance to sober. "I cannot even count all the quests that have taken time from my family, but I know I have never felt so conflicted about it as I do now."

"You have to do the right thing by them. If you leave again…" She gave her head a shake. "They have to know that they're important. Love's the most important thing. There's only one answer, and you know it. Please—please just be happy." She painted on a smile, buried everything else—stuffed it down deep into every empty crack 'til she pulsed with it—for if he saw a single slip, it would sway him.

He took her hand. "I know how much we sacrifice for others. I will not forget your generous heart, Sajantha. Bit by bit and little by little, thus does innate goodness conquer the blood of an evil god."

'Generous.' _Generous?_ Better to lose him this way than watching the light fade from him as he fell because of her: 'twas only selfishness which could bear no more bodies at her feet.

"Thank you." He stepped outside. "Take care of yourself."

Edwin had said that, too. Because she was the only one who could do that, wasn't she? No one else would.

Just like no one else could help Imoen—and Imoen was even more alone than she was. Only she hadn't even the luxury of these stolen moments, not even a single embrace to shut out the world: she had no escape, she had nothing to stare upon but her prison (and Irenicus, Irenicus, he surely stared at her). Cold blue eyes like drops of ice enough to freeze her through.

She took in a breath. Jagged, like through little holes cut in her lungs, all her air leaking out. Cut. Leaking (drip drip drip).

A shadow fell over her; she jerked away.

"Pardon, miss." One of the waiting staff stared at her. "Just wondering if you're going to buy something…?" 'Or leave,' his thinly concealed condescension said for him.

They wanted money. They wanted Imoen's money.

"I'm sorry." Her lips were numb, like they disconnected her words from her, something that didn't belong, separate. "I have to go." She needed to leave. To release this dam of pressure rising inside her, and everyone was already staring at her; whispers tickled at her ears.

The ache in her heart had slipped too far, too heavy, 'til even her feet dragged with the effort of carrying her. Just get outside. Just get away from all these judgmental eyes.

Then it would be alright.

It would be alright.

Right?

* * *

=E=

"Ah, the beauty of the grove tethers my heart to its ferns and mosses." The dark-haired druid raised his eyebrows. "So are we all of us at peace who allow the sweetness of nature to—"

A surge of heat set fire to Edwin's tongue. "If you direct another word at me, it will be an apology for disturbing me, you witless cretin! Transform back into a wolfwere, where at least the inanity of your howlings will be forgivable (as well as your stink). Pfeh!"

"So does the wind bluster hot and loud, yet 'tis not the thunder which damages, but the lightning."

Oh, _yes._ "If you wish lightning, you need only ask; I shall call down a storm the likes of which you've not seen. You think I bellow empty threats? An end to your shallow prattle will be as the peace of ages!" Yes, yes, this would be a welcome outcome, and an _inevitable_ one if the idiot continued to bait him.

The Harper gave her head a shake. "My, you are cranky today."

"You shall see a great improvement in my disposition when I have left this petty business behind." Bah! Even the rocks conspired to catch at his feet; when would this ridiculous wilderness end? Without the random wandering of the initial trip, the return should be shorter, should it not?

"When Boo does not get enough sleep, he squeaks with such a ferocity! Usually a cracker and a belly rub calms him back down. Maybe the wizard would like this?"

 _Such inanity!_ The barbarian's deep voice pounded against Edwin's already aching head. "You—you are not even worth the breath it takes to insult you!"

 _Raviwr._ Nothing near alarm—no reason to return—but in the meantime he must suffer the imp's growing unease, like a constant murmur nagging in his ear, an itch beneath his skin. 'Twas the creature's worry, not his own, but no way to turn it off without muting their connection altogether.

The shadow druids responsible had been slain, the mission fulfilled, they could return to Trademeet—at last—surely little more of this trek to endure.

Nothing to worry after, so what caused this heaviness to every step, as if he walked in entirely the wrong direction?

Walked—and nearly stumbled—the others had come to a stop.

"What!"

"The house here." The rogue squinted at the structure. "Something odd about it."

Indeed, something odd, that anyone would want to live out here in this disgusting mire of filth and weeds far from any reasonable civility, but peasants were not known for their imagination nor ambition.

The nearby swamp bubbled a slurping greeting as if eager for them to enter, echoed by a handful of hidden frogs. Lovely. And this decrepit house was just as welcoming; a weatherbeaten structure that ought to have been abandoned to the tender mercies of the swamp, with shutters falling free and stretches of the shingled roof bare enough to reveal the rafters beneath.

And… a presence.

The druid—the young one (and infinitely more annoying; who had thought it possible to trump a Harper?)—wrinkled his nose. "There is something unnatural here. The wind whispers… Is this magic I smell?"

Indeed, it reeked of magic. A familiar tinge, of something very recent… Ah—the playhouse!—extra-planar. An outsider here? _Hn._ Had the djinn outside the town not whined about such a thing?

Yes, that was it: a _rakshasa._ Edwin began casting.

"What are you doing?"

"Do not interrupt me." He had allowed Sajantha far too much leeway in this for them to get the wrong idea.

This was nowhere near the sort of location a rakshasa would normally inhabit; it must be desperate. More dangerous. Destroy its dwelling, and the creature would emerge weakened. Bound by no constraints of honor to allow them an edge to exploit—rakshasa fought dirty—if it was losing or cornered, 'twould disappear to reappear when conditions suited it.

And quite resistant to magic, alas. A mind-reader, as well, and while his headpiece would keep it from detecting his thoughts, the second any information was shared with the group, 'twould be used against them.

This needed be done quickly.

"Trust me," he told the others.

"That is an awful lot to ask," Jaheira murmured.

The creatures he had summoned remained on the other side of the tree-line, out of sight, ready for his call.

The rakshasa would only grow confused trying to read the tangle of the others' confusion. And Edwin would strike. The rest of them would figure out what to do quickly enough; they were not entirely brainless.

A stave thunked into the ground before him, its top very near his nose.

He moved it out of the way with a sneer. _"Excuse_ me."

Jaheira sneered back with narrowed eyes. "I do not submit to your direction any more than you do mine. But I speak for everyone when I say I will not proceed without being informed."

"Ah, finally grown weary of existing in ignorance?" Edwin gave a shrug. "This can be forgiven." But his way was the only one of intelligence, and its efficiency could surely be forgiven once they had the rakshasa's head in hand.

At last, understanding began to crystallize in the Harper's eyes, for an orange glow grew as the summoned Nessian Warhounds rose over the lip of the nearby hill, flames licking from their eyes and snarling maws. If the creature decided to take flight, it would not outrun them. Time to dispose of it.

 _Quite_ a lot of work to secure spell components.

* * *

=S=

The warm glow of the temples stood out ever-brighter as the day darkened, their reflections upon the water gold against a graying sky.

 _Oghma._ Sajantha's stomach twisted. His did not number among any of these temples—perhaps for the best. Only one place made any sense to go.

The young man at the Order's entrance came to attention with such an overcompensating enthusiasm that he'd certainly been caught off-guard. Had she disrupted his daydreaming? "Good day to you. Be, uh, welcome. How can I be of service?"

"Hello. I'm looking for Anomen Delryn?"

His head bobbed down, as if disappointed. "He's just left yesterday with the rest of the patrol, though I expect they'll be back within the next day or two…" He trailed off. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No." She took a step back upon the stairs. "No, I'm afraid not."

"I can take a message for him, if you like."

The smile sat stiffly on her face. "Thank you. It's alright." Stupid! He'd _told_ her he was leaving. Had hope taken her feet here, or forgetfulness?

He nodded at the sky. "Better get home, soon; it looks like a storm's coming."

"Yes," she murmured, "it always is." She turned, and step-step-stepped down the stairs—quickly, like she had somewhere to go (home), someone who was missing her.

(Imoen.)

The chill wind pricked her eyes, reached in and stole the breath right out of her. The waterways that cut through the Temple District for a moment doubled in her vision, looking more a path than the walkways crossing over them.

 _Somewhere to go._ Yes. That was what she needed.

Lacey's face rose first to mind, but she'd be busy looking after Zaviera if she wasn't busy working. _That_ was her true friend, not Sajantha, not half so much. And not when she'd managed the opposite of progress thus far.

 _Somewhere else._

She could go to the Thieves' Guild, ask after Mook. Go to the circus, talk to Aerie. The Five Flagons, see Samuel. But none of them knew her, not really. None of them had any reason to care, however kind they had been. It would come clear for only the casual politeness it was, and how much emptier would that leave her? Just… just go back to the Coronet and… and just go back there. Just… keep walking. Why was that so hard?

So hard that her legs lost balance, she caught the edge of a puddle and slipped to the ground; it slowly soaked through her leggings as she stared into the canal.

 _drip_

 _drip_

 _drip_

Little ripples blended together, rings that couldn't intersect without destroying each other.

Cold—on her face—she flinched. Rain drop.

"I have seen the truth," came a voice behind her. "What do these gods offer us? There is a calling beyond them, beyond all we have known. They offer us nothing but lies. I see… I see the false god's stink as it wafts from your soul! Cast aside your unholy ways, child. Join me on the true path—I have seen the truth!" His voice dropped to a murmur, _"Do you see?"_

Something crawling up her spine, she turned her head, and there stood the speaker—a nightmare brought to life—his lips curled wide in a grin, the dark opening of his mouth below two hollow sockets, just as dark.

She scrambled to her feet with a scream.

"You! What did I tell you about preaching out here?" A guard hurried between them, and waited 'til the man began walking away—steady, steadier than even she, for having no eyes—before he turned to Sajantha. "Sorry, miss. Was he giving you trouble?"

No coldness on her face, now, all of it warm. "He… no. He just startled me."

"Startle's a kind word for it. What's the matter, with folk what take their eyes out on purpose?"

Her stomach turned. The only part of her that could move freely, the rest of her frozen; the gusting wind could blow her over.

"You alright?"

"Fine." The word stuck to her lips, humming angrily in her ears as she turned around and stepped along the slippery stone edge of the canals. The stone walkway had gone from white to gray as the rain soaked it through.

Slippery, so slippery, so easily she could slip she could fall she could dash her head against the stone, a crimson bloom a flower erupting open to stain the water—but a moment—free to unfurl and swirl into the waves, deep and dark. Dark and deep. She stared at the water, or it stared at her; the rippling depths trapped her eyes. Dark. Oh, so dark. (Red could only improve it.)

So easy: just one more step, one foot in front of the other and her troubles would spill away, dissolve into nothing.

One foot after another. One foot…

 _'I am not afraid of death,'_ Sarevok said. _'Are you?'_

A stumble, and vertigo tore her breath as she caught her balance. As fast as she walked, she could not outrun her thoughts. Nor could she face them: she would slip.

Don't look back. Don't look. (Don't see.)

* * *

=E=

When Edwin left the djinns' tent, spell components secure (and less one rakshasa head), the sun was still high enough to leave a question as to how the rest of the day would proceed. Would their resident slave-driver allow them the day off? Or were they to begin the long march back to Athkatla?

No way of knowing until her highness the harpy showed up. Edwin rubbed the bridge of his nose as a headache began to take form. Just how long was their meeting with the mayor to take? There was no conceivable reason the exchange of money should require so much time.

A voice emerged beside him. Beside him, and quite low to the ground. "My mother 'n father were killed by wolves, they were." Matted hanks of blond hair someone had attempted to tame into a ponytail dangled in her face, and she stared out behind them with a glum expression. Her faded green dress had been patched at the elbows. All in all, a truly pathetic sight.

"You are grubbing for coins, I presume." All she was missed was accessorizing with a smear of dirt. "(Ugh. Is there no end to these miserable free-loaders?)"

She blinked. "No, I'm not here to beg. Just waiting for the priest to come 'n take me to the orphanage."

"I see."

"It's… it's real far away, he said." She wiped at her nose, dirtying her sleeve to do so.

"You should ensure you have suitable traveling wear, then." And a handkerchief: that shirt was already sodden!

She stared at him stupidly. Gods! As preposterously unprepared as those soft slippers she wore!

"Walking boots. And something to keep the sun from your face." With that pale complexion, she would not endure Amnish sunlight very long. "(They also brew slimy concoctions to slather upon the skin, I have heard.)" Not everyone had the luxury of enchanted cloaks, to be sure.

"I… I've not got anything like that, sir. But might be the priest will."

More likely not. "Those selfish pigs hoard alms for their own gain! You cannot count upon anyone else to provide for you." No doubt the girl would be lucky if this priest deigned to keep her properly fed! With those knobby wrists, she hardly—

"What are you doing, Edwin?" The rogue was grinning at him. "Making friends?"

' _Making friends, are we?'_ And for a moment a girl with wildly curly hair filled his vision, spell-lights flickering across her face as she bit back a smile.

"Bah! I am perishing of boredom as I await your return, clearly. (Could they have wasted any more of my time?)"

"Because of cleansing the grove and ending the djinn's embargo, we have officially been declared the 'Heroes of Trademeet.' " the rogue said. "I hope you are prepared for the next job we've lined up."

"So there won't be any more wolves?" the girl asked.

"No, child," the Harper answered. "You are safe."

Safe for _now,_ perhaps. Edwin gave his head a shake. "The heroes are off-duty at the moment, it seems. Finally cured that obnoxious habit of bleeding coppers where'er you go? Thus-like has earned you such esteemed titles, yes?" 'Heroes,' pfeh. Were Sajantha here, she surely would have taken it upon herself to provide something for the woebegone orphan the instant they'd met.

He stalked back to the inn without waiting to see whether they bothered digging their pockets for spare coins.

* * *

=S=

A handful of people hung about the second floor of the Coronet, with the kind of inquisitive idleness that said they had no business being there, their whispers and murmurs contributing to the strange stillness that hung in the air.

Sajantha's steps slowed to a hesitant pace as she stepped off the stairs. Strange? No. No, it couldn't be, not when she was too well-acquainted for them to ever be strangers.

She was in the middle of the knot now, pushing through. "What happened?" Sajantha shouldered to get past them, her heart already hammering. "What is it?" But somehow she knew, as if she stood outside the group, outside her body; her mind conjured the image of a crumpled figure, a puckered-open throat. _Death._ It itched at her skin, at the bottoms of her feet, daring her to run, to deny it. _Don't look don't look._

Indifferent voices overlapped, blurred into the background, from the spectators who cared only enough to be curious. "Just some whore."

She'd already known, somehow, but knowing still hurt; the truth reached into her and squeezed all the air from her lungs. Sajantha's knees folded, and her arm knocked out against the bench to catch her fall. She'd have a bruise.

Look at her. _You have to look at her._ Look at what she'd allowed to happen, what she hadn't stopped.

Sajantha looked into the open room and a single heartbeat of relief for a moment buoyed her, for this body didn't even look like the lovely Zaviera, not with that tongue bulging out (strangled), not with gaping holes in place of eyes. Not at all.

Down the hall, her gaze connected— _Lacey._

Lacey was screaming and the noise flew at her, got beneath her skin and drilled down deep and she couldn't stand there any longer, couldn't bear it; Sajantha turned around and ran, ran back through the crowd, back downstairs, back out the door.

Outside, the rain hit her in a welcome wave, an insulating curtain that muffled her battering thoughts even as her feet slipped, as she gasped for breath.

Just for a moment, then they joined the pattering rain in a chorus around her. _'The Coronet, hm?'_ Fadrique had known just where to look.

Her fault. _Her fault._

Zaviera was gone (and her father was gone and Khalid was gone and Imoen and Edwin and Oghma and Anomen and Keldorn and everyone).

And how could she go back in there? How could she ever face Lacey again? _What a mess._ What a gods-damned mess. 'Twas a folly to trust a Bhaalspawn; someone else was dead because Sajantha hadn't been good enough, fast enough, to stop a murderer.

She choked in a breath, eyes blurring. The rain couldn't fall hard enough nor full enough to wash her away, to hide her; a torrent, she needed a tidal wave, something to scour the flesh from her and cleanse her anew.

But some things could never be erased.

 _Gone._

Shadows swam at the edges of her vision, people walking by, all ignoring her. No one cared.

It might as well have been _her_ who had died back there, tainted blood pooling around her as strangers walked by, unconcerned. Maybe if she stood out here long enough all the bad parts of her would melt away. (Maybe there would be nothing left.)

"I should thank you."

Sajantha's head jerked up.

Raindrops licked down the speaker's wide-brimmed hat, the hat that tilted to hide his eyes— _eye—_ and didn't hide at all the satisfaction upon his lips. "Couldn't have cleaned this mess up without you," Fadrique said, tipping his hat. _Fadrique._

Her heart pounded, hard, louder than anything else, louder than the rain, than the thoughts in her head, an insistent beat, a howling river current that swept her away.

His mouth curled up at the corners, some twisted excuse for a smile as he turned away.

 _Away._ The word pulsed. He would get away with it.

 _Away._ He was walking away.

Getting away.

 _No. Not like this._

Blade in her hands, her vision narrowed in: five running steps to meet his wide-open back. She sucked in a breath and sprinted, sword raised, fast enough not to feel the raindrops, not to feel anything but the sweeping rush as she drew her blade back and thrust it forward.

With a jolting blow in her wrist, the sword snapped back from her nerveless fingers; she'd barely the time to let out a pained cry before the world spun—then _slammed—_ her teeth snapped together, a burst of stars obscuring a snarling face as she collided again with the side of the inn. Dimly came the sound of her sword clattering to the ground.

And then—and then she could not _breathe—_ thick and hot, fingers squeezed tight around her throat, choking the air from her even as she kicked. Her hands fluttered uselessly, trying to pry his vise-grip free. _No. Not like this._ Not like this. But the edges of her vision began to darken.

"I could crush you like an insect. _No eres nadie,"_ he spat the words. "You are nothing."

 _No._ The word welled up from somewhere frozen inside her, an unfathomably deep certainty:

 _I_

 _am_

 _not_

 _nothing!_

The wave of conviction erupted within her and shook through her limbs—her dagger, _there,_ as if it had flown to reach her fingers _—_ she thrust out blindly. Connected with his side.

He jerked away, allowing her a breath (and room to re-angle upward with more precision). _Stab._ Stilettos were for stabbing. Again, again, again—his chest, his lungs, his heart—and then he wasn't standing any longer but slumped to the ground, collapsing with a wet lurch, and Fadrique was dead _he was dead_ and never coming back (and neither was anyone else).

A hoarse cry escaped her, and it burned raw through her throat. His body welcomed the blade once, twice, thrice more (again, again, again).

And Sajantha sobbed in a breath as she took a step back—splashed, lost her footing in a puddle—and slipped hard against the ground. The dagger fell from her slick fingers as red dissolved around them.

He was dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

And so was Zaviera.

Too late. _'You will come too late.'_

Somewhere off to the side, footsteps splashed. Witnesses? A bodyguard? The garrison? Take her away, they might as well; she hadn't anywhere else to go.

She stared up through misted eyes but there was only the gurgle of rain gutters; the street was empty: she was alone.

* * *

=E=

"This is what comes of being a town's 'heroes!' " Such an appalling pejorative to bear. "At the mercy of any idiot with a problem and no coins to rub together. Do not spend all their goodwill in one place! Has a thief absconded with a worthless family bauble? Any socks gone missing? Perhaps a cat trapped on a roof?" Better if they should return to the city forthwith, but the 'heroes' had managed to find a new way to waste their time, listening to this latest helpless tale of woe.

"I… I remember nothing until I awoke—a man was tying Raissa to a chair."

Edwin glanced up. Certainly there was nothing else worth examining in this peasant hovel (though identifying that horrendous _smell_ might keep one busy), but perhaps there was a piece worth picking out within all the idiot's babbling: what significance was this? Sajantha's rope-burned wrists flashed a moment to mind.

"He was a, a man—or something that looked like a man—but he had no skin! All I saw was his… his muscles? Sinew. All red, and… I ran—" The young man's voice dissolved in a wet sob. "I ran."

"What manner of creature could this be?" His mother demanded. "What kind of magic would create a horror such as this?"

The pieces clicked into place with ease. "Skindancers, obviously." The mages who had seized Sajantha—those responsible for the skinning murders—had been allowed to escape, had they not? (Bah! Paladins could not be trusted to deal with anything. Such a fool, that the man believed himself suitable to watch over her!)

Such depraved practices as skindancers performed were not the sort to be shelved; of course 'twas but a matter of time ere they would again rear their heads. "Powerful necromancers. They wear the skins of others as disguises."Had they intended to use Sajantha for such a purpose? _Sajantha._ Still this restlessness prickled beneath his skin.

"Raissa—gods." The young man licked his lips. "That's what has Raissa? Please—please! You have to help her."

"I 'have' to do nothing, boy." What impudence!

"Of course we will help you, child." The Harper did not spear the boy with the same glare she stabbed at Edwin. "Do you know aught else to aid our search? Where you escaped from?"

"The woods, I came out of the woods, aye, near the southwest gate. You have to save her, please. Please, hurry."

Edwin stepped outside. 'Hurry', pfeh. Scampering off at the beck-and-call of every commoner!

"What do you know of these skindancers, Edwin?" the rogue asked as they crossed to the edge of town.

Edwin straightened his sleeves. "I have little interest in such necromancies, but I am not unlearned. Their disguises are as effective as shape-changers or illusions. Yet I cannot think our quarry is especially advanced, for they took no trouble to dispose of evidence; more evolved skindancers are able to devour the bodies of their victims."

The Harper's nose wrinkled. "These are men, or creatures?"

"They were men once. Over-exposure to dark magics rarely has pleasant side-effects."

"There, there, Boo, do not tremble so; your skin is too small for them to be after." The Rashemi looked up from his little rat, alarmed. "Right? There are no hamster-dancers, are there?"

"Perhaps on whatever plane you say he hails from." Gods! Why waste the breath.

"These are the evil men who tried to take Sajantha from us!" The barbarian pounded his hand against his fist. (Did he never misjudge and hit his hamster?) "They will have their comeuppance! No one escapes the justice of Minsc and Boo—look out, evil, we're coming!"

"Sometimes it serves to sneak up on evil, not alert it." The rogue winced a bit as they passed through the gates.

"All will hear Minsc's battle cry and tremble in fear!"

"Battle!" A figure slipped out of the woods, looking between them. "You are here to do battle? Might you hunt the same creature as I?" The man's nondescript clothing blended well beneath the shadows of the trees. A woodsman, perhaps? He wore a blade upon his belt.

Hm. Most in the town had gathered to celebrate the absence of the djinn and the ended animal attacks; even upon the outskirts, the sounds of their revelry could be heard. Who was this, to appear so suddenly and conveniently? "We hunt all manner of deceivers and dissemblers. (One supposes you will find your way onto our list.)"

"As true heroes do," the Rashemi agreed. Ugh. That _word_ again.

"It is a creature known as the Skin Dancer that I hunt, a man-like beast without true flesh of its own. If we perhaps share a quarry: have you any information on it?"

"More information than you!" _'A man-like beast?'_ "Lost the trail while you were hunting folk tales, have you?" Evidently he'd read nothing factual.

"We do not know their location, if this is what you are asking," Jaheira told the idiot with undeserved generosity.

"I believe I may have found their lair, actually. You," he looked between them, brightening, "you are the town's heroes, are you not? I could use the help of such skilled adventurers." And after dispensing directions, he scurried away to first scout it.

"What do you suppose the odds of this _not_ being a trap are?" And such an obvious one, this was not even worth amusement. Edwin shook his head. "I do not believe in coincidences."

"They will have made many enemies, and as you say they left much evidence behind in Athkatla. It is not impossible others have caught their trail." But the Harper did not sound terribly convinced, more as if she simply preferred to disagree with him.

"Eh, if he leads us into a trap, he leads us straight to the villains!" Minsc raised his sword. "Time to meet evil!"

Surely this was the first thing resembling any sense that imbecile had ever uttered. It saved them further search, after all.

"Protections against magic, especially negative energy." Quite a list of things they might prepare with, though whether the party was equipped to deal with them was another story. There had only been two, yes? He ought to have asked Sajantha more about them.

Raviwr itched beneath his skin with an adamance that refused to be ignored: Edwin rubbed at his arms.

They reached the pavilion the man spoke of in a far corner of town, the area strangely quiet 'til their hunter appeared, a young woman at his side. "You have come!" Excited, he pointed behind him. A body? "The creature was about to kill the maiden here, and I could wait no longer."

"Raissa!" The Harper stepped forward. "You are alright?"

"I… I knocked him out!" The girl wrung her hands together. "He was going to kill me!"

"Quickly!" The hunter kept shifting his feet, looking back-and-forth between they and the fallen figure. "Kill him now while we have the chance!"

Raviwr's restlessness spun in circles, slowly building; Edwin tried to focus past it: What manner of hunter would stalk prey only to stand back upon cornering it—begging another to do his work? Did the fool not carry a blade? Yet, the two waited as if posed for the group's arrival. As if they needed a show. Witnesses. _Hm._ Certainly a trap of some manner, though who had the time to untangle it? The imp's tension had only grown, reaching out to squeeze his chest.

"Yes! Kill him, please!" The young woman's bosom heaved, her eyes quickly darting around. They'd held the girl (and thus her skin) for at least a day. 'Twas not outside the realm of possibility…

"I am not sure…" the druid began, her voice dim behind the pounding in Edwin's head.

Bah! His time was worth infinitely more than this! Why untangle what could simply be cut through?

 _"These_ are the skindancers." Edwin pointed to the two standing beside the fallen figure. " 'Tis indeed a trap." Haphazardly constructed and fit to fool only those of far less intelligence than he. But still no one moved.

 _Fine._ Edwin threw a stream of arcane bolts at the one wearing the woman's skin—that ought to be enough—and had time to glimpse the skinners' angry faces and the party's confused ones (also not a little bit angry) before he teleported away.

* * *

=S=

Figures splashed by, though nothing sounded over the roar of rain except the distant roll of thunder, so distant even that could hardly rise to penetrate her ears, so muffling was this cloud around her.

"Are you injured?"

Sajantha raised her wet hands. "There's blood all over. Don't you see it?" Images swirled in her head, blending with the rivulets running down her arms, her face, the land beneath her, like all of her was emptying, flowing out into the ground. _Injured?_ He would just heal her again (again again again); how could there be any injuries when there was nothing to injure no self no body no edges at all just a blur.

(red red red)

 _Red._

Edwin.

Rain or tears followed the same tracks down her face, left her, left her empty. Pattering into the pause, raindrops filled the silence.

"Is the paladin gone so soon?" _Edwin._ Edwin's voice washed over her, warmer than the rain. "He ran off even faster than I would have guessed."

 _Gone._ Everyone was gone. She hugged her knees, spoke through them. "It doesn't matter. It's better this way."

"Such a sensible thought seems at odds with someone sitting outside during a downpour. (As if we needed another affirmation that she lacks even the common sense of a baboon.)" He let out a sigh. "There are far more pleasurable ways to drown yourself, if that is your intention; I imagine half a tankard would suffice."

The rain had stopped—no, but it was no longer landing upon her—a small force-field repelled the downpour around them. Sajantha looked up.

Not mocking, not sneering, he stared down at her without expression.

 _Edwin._ Where had he come from—wasn't he supposed to be on the road? "What… what are you doing?"

"I am out waiting with you in the rain whilst the rest of our party wanders equally witlessly about requiring direction. (Flailing about in Trademeet still, I should think.) And what of you?" Facing her, but his eyes scanned the street, more interested in that than her, than in the body just paces away. "What is it you are doing?" His gaze returned to study her. "Crying in the rain will not bring your friend any closer."

 _Imoen._

There were no individual raindrops; the water had already closed over her head.

Edwin's lips were moving, but no sound made it through the dull roar in her ears, this wave of lethargy.

Why fight it? Why delay the inevitable. To keep her head above the waves—treading endlessly—so, so draining, without any possibility of success. It was too much. Just stop kicking. Stop fighting. Quiet could enfold her at last, could keep her company—soft, it would hold her tight—without the painful sharp edges of everything else.

She could finally rest.

 _'The dirt nap,'_ Imoen whispered.

A sting of heat exploded across her cheek. Her hand jumped to it as she blinked the blur from her eyes.

"What—" She gathered her self, her words, her focus, "what the _Hells?"_

Edwin crouched before her, eyes narrowed in a glare. "Cease your maudlin introspection. Self-pity is for the weak and hopeless."

"Which am I?" The pain—stinging, ringing—hummed like a song, relentless as the gaze which would not leave her, even as he stood.

"You could not possibly be more of a trial. Try applying your stubbornness into something _real_ for once. Or roll over and die, if you must. If you can see no other recourse, I wash my hands of you."

He turned. The rain clattered loudly enough to swallow his footsteps.

She stared at his back, at the cloak swept out behind him. "Do you know how many ways there are to kill a man, with just a knife?"

The cloak fell still against his legs.

"I do," she whispered.

Edwin looked over his shoulder. "Is that a threat…?"

"No." She glanced down at the puddles sucking at her, then rose to step free of them. "It's a truth."

"So." He'd fully turned towards her. "You are facing truths at last?"

 _Whose truths?_ She swallowed, could only shake her head, wet hair sticking to her face. "That's not me. That's not _me."_

In the space of a breath, he had returned; the rain stopped hitting her, 'til only the chill remained from its damp. He held her chin—her gaze—she could not look away, could not so much as slouch while he held her so, and her feet found no purchase on the slick ground as she tried to step away.

"I had not thought you so weak as to disintegrate from a little bit of rain."

"That's not who I am. It can't be." This wetness on her hands was not red, all she saw when she closed her eyes. _"I can't let it be me."_

"You 'can't?' No one sets these limitations upon you but yourself. I suppose you also can't be bothered to save your friend from the clutches of the very same man who so destroyed your own sense of self. How do you suppose she is faring while you wallow about here?"

Her breath caught. "He doesn't want to hurt her. He's after me." _Godchild._

"And just what worth could you possibly be to him, so weak and helpless as you are?"

"Wh-why are you doing this? You came back just to mock me?" How could he; _how could he?_

"Why would you have had me come back? To put you out of your misery? You are no good to anyone, not dead, not drowning. Continue to mope about, 'tis clear Irenicus took the wrong one of you."

"Gods—gods damn it!" She wrenched away from him and the returning onslaught of rain fell twice as hard, twice as cold. "How can you–"

"How can _I?_ It is not _my_ friend trapped at his mercy, is it?" He stared into her. " 'You don't care about anything else. Just her.' You told me this once. Is it no longer true?"

"I-I don't. I don't care." The raindrops—the tears—caught in her nose, in her mouth, choking the breath from her, choking all her words. "Not about anything—I can't. I can't beat this." They'd all leave. Or die. All of them, everyone would leave her, one by one, an inevitability as dark and chilling as this storm, blank eyes, dead eyes (no eyes). "It won't matter what I do. Nothing matters."

"If nothing you believe in matters, perhaps it is time to find new beliefs."

"I hate this. All of it." The words cracked, cracked like they ripped through her very soul. "There's nothing good anymore, not anywhere. It's all just blood and death and nightmares and—and what's the point?" Her voice, hoarse, tore through her throat, "This is my _life_ , Edwin— _this is my life."_ Puddles splattered around her as she stomped her foot. "You don't know," she spat. "You. Don't. Know."

"Change is a part of life. Only the dead do not change."

"Oh, you—" Sajantha wiped at her eyes, a hollow laugh escaping, "you think _you_ could change? If your whole life turned upside-down. If nothing you believed in was real, and everything important to you fell apart and left you all alone. You could just… you could just go along with that—you could just accept that?"

Edwin—the only thing that hadn't changed—stood still calm and steady, defiantly untouched in the midst of this storm, the torrent that was her life. If she could only just shake him, if he could only ever _see…_

"If you limit your beliefs to only what is real, if you trust only yourself—the only one you can ensure will never let you down—then nothing can ever hurt you."

"That's—that's horrible."

"Is it? And what is this?" He gestured at her.

"You can believe in things. In people." Somehow it was easier to believe when she was trying to convince him. Because—because—it had to be true. If he could _see_ —then it could be true. "You're not alone."

"We are all alone. It is folly to believe otherwise." His eyes narrowed. "Would you still rather be a fool and die for your beliefs before compromising them? You told me this once, too. We both know how that ended, don't we?"

 _'I am not afraid of death. Are you?'_

Her heart squeezed so tight—her whole chest wringing—she couldn't breathe. "Gods damn you. Go away. Just—go away!" She kept it in but barely, the storm building beneath her skin, clenched behind her jaw.

"So," he said, "you have killed people. People who did not deserve it, people who had less choice than you." A pressure, solid and warm, as his hands closed over her shoulders—the rain stopped, the surging stilled as if all falling silent to better hear him.

"Stop fighting the truth and accept it." He tipped his head towards her, and the enchantment keeping him dry quieted the raindrops drumming over her, making his murmured voice that much clearer: _"Accept it_ , and it will shock you how easy this is to get over."

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** Thank you thank youuu everyone reading and commenting! *hearts*


	27. Search

=E=

The unpleasant twinges of Raviwr's dissatisfaction had mostly diminished after Edwin had teleported in, and proximity allowed for a more accurate reading of the imp's mood: _preening,_ of all things; the creature now wished congratulations for some reason. Edwin continued ignoring him, sending out a warning wave lest the devil presume the conditions of his invisibility no longer applied.

No, 'twas _Sajantha's_ mood most in need of attention, and dealing with her in this state was trying enough to require all spare concentration. Some madness had surely taken hold of her, for she now gripped his arm with her face tipped against it, shoulders shaking—ah. Crying.

"She's dead," a muffled voice said into his sleeve. "She's dead because I didn't do it sooner."

Who…? Yet this was hardly the most pressing matter: just how long did she expect him to stand thusly, with her _clinging_ to him? Just what did she wish? "I had not thought there was aught left to leak free of you…?" His cloak's enchantment succeeded only in repelling _rainwater,_ not the dripping faces of sobbing waifs; he grimaced.

"At least allow me to dispose of this." That should extricate him gracefully enough, without provoking any more of that… mess.

Edwin looked down to examine the easier problem. Not long dead, this man, for he'd not yet had a chance to empty: though the curled position kept the blood puddled somewhat, rain even now dragged it away in pink streams down the alleyway. A sorry sight. If the fool had taken the trouble to armor himself, he might have avoided the severity of these wounds; the idiot deserved such an ignoble end.

He knelt for a closer look. (A ruby eyepatch? How very _gauche_.) A series of stab wounds sliced through what had once been a skillfully styled waistcoat. But, wait—there _was_ armor beneath it, a shirt of chain-mail so tightly linked as to flow like another layer of silk. He reached out, testing its weight. No other material was so strong yet supple: this could only be mithral.

Mithral! And shredded through as if it were some flimsy, rusted specimen of tainted iron; not even an enchanted blade could have done this quality of damage. Recognition tightened with an eager thrill inside him: _her_ magic could break such rules. Sajantha's wild magic must have propelled that ordinary blade through one of the strongest mortal creations in existence. Edwin rose to his feet.

Were the man not dressed in finery, no one would take note of another body in the slums, but here the shine of coin drew vultures; with armor worth coming back for, he'd best spare an invisibility charm to keep it secure until one of his minions could retrieve it.

"Check his pockets," he directed Raviwr. Or… might she have already done so?

There was a pause. "Twenty-three gold." And Sajantha began to laugh, a trifle too high-pitched, as she spoke through her fingers. "He had twenty-three gold."

No use waiting, then. _"De shio saurivic."_

With the man and his gear gone from sight, Edwin turned his attention back to the bedraggled bard.

Water—rain or tears?—still ran down her face. She turned away, wiping her pink nose, only to reveal the side of her neck: bruised lines, the exact shape and width of a man's fingers, curved around her throat. Her gaze jumped to his. "What?" A faint redness remained on her cheek where he'd tried to wake her from her self-pitying stupor.

He looked away, clearing his throat, and his gaze fell upon her discarded blade; he bent to retrieve it. "Here."

She slowly took the sword, her gaze clear without the rain falling between them. Rain, then, not tears, however red-rimmed her eyes. So long as they were touching, his weather-deflecting enchantment covered them both.

He let out a sigh, then reached for her shoulder. "Keep close, and the barrier should shelter you."

* * *

=S=

A pressure on her shoulder—her stomach jumped—but Edwin quickly withdrew his hand, though with their shoulders brushing, he still stood close enough for his enchantment to envelop her.

Gods! Why did her heart have to pound so? Why did she have to feel so wrung-out when all of her still was soaking wet?

He looked down at her, gaze catching briefly on her chest before glancing off.

 _Her scars!_ Was he thinking of them? They didn't—did they show through her shirt? It was wet enough, and the white fabric thin enough, maybe—gods! Sajantha crossed her arms over her chest; her face was the only part of her at all warm.

"You look like a half-drowned cat." Did he purposely avert his eyes, or were the deserted streets so much more interesting?

"S-Sorry it's so embarrassing to be seen with me. All th-those people in the slums you've got to impress." The inn awaited them up ahead, a low blot in the gray mist around them. Her shivers deepened as a gust of wind cut straight through her.

"Ought I ask where your cloak is?" Edwin's voice was as maddeningly dry as he was.

This morning, when she'd dressed… this morning she'd only been thinking of Keldorn and his family (that did not include her), and… and…

"Come here," he said, and for half a moment it seemed as if he might invite her beneath his cloak, but what a ridiculous thing to think, just because he raised his arm and motioned her. _"Morne svern."_ He paused a moment with the mist of magic on his palms, then with a frown his hands closed over hers; he held her hands 'til they tingled, 'til the warmth filled them back up.

 _Touch her._ If he might only touch her everywhere, chase this chill away. But those weren't words she could ever say.

Concentration furrowed his brow as he looked up from their hands. "How is that?"

Of course 'twas not as if they could just stand there like this all day! "It's… it's fine." She let go—and how quickly the cold crept back!—then tucked her hands into her arms, holding in as much heat as she could. "Um. Why didn't we just teleport?"

"Developed a taste for it, have you?" He smirked, and the familiar sight helped warm her further. "It has been a long day. And I must yet retrieve my belongings." They stopped outside the Coronet. "I will return in a moment; best get inside before my enchantment vanishes with me."

Oh—the rain-repellent. "Right." She ducked inside the dark inn, where the cold crept back around her.

* * *

=E=

Edwin stood outside the Coronet an extra several moments as he waited for his vision to settle, and pinched the bridge of his nose. At least little else in the way of magical energies had been required of him this day, else so many successive teleports would have demanded a far greater toll than mere disorientation. And none in this dismal corner were keen to capitalize upon it; with but a glare, he sent the fools between he and his target scurrying.

The Coronet waited, its shoddy shingle job giving its roof a crooked appearance, and the wave of sound (and smell) that emerged as a patron staggered out did much to ensure a negative reception. Had he hoped for otherwise? Edwin stepped inside with a sigh.

Pfeh, the stink of the place had surely multiplied tenfold with the sodden bodies packed within; one would have hoped the rain to wash them unto some semblance of cleanliness instead of merely providing more juices to soak in.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim room and the cloud of smoke that added its own murkiness—far easier to adjust to than this odor—ah, _there._ Sajantha still shivered, but her face was now colored red, and her crossed arms only tightened as he approached.

"What is wrong now?" Not five minutes had passed!

She bit her lip, looking away. "Nothing—it's nothing."

Clearly 'twas not, but a quick perusal of their surroundings revealed nothing amiss; the early-evening crowd remained absorbed in their assorted drinks.

Sajantha had sidled closer and closer to the stairs. "I'm going to my room."

"Do you not wish to eat first?" Not that they should suffer this slop, best order from elsewhere.

She only shook her head, with enough vehemence to leave wet strands of hair clinging to her face.

"I will order you a bath."

"Thanks." Too distracted for appropriate appreciation, apparently, for she'd not even bothered with a smile before hurrying upstairs.

Best send some food up as well, on the chance she might eat it. A half-drowned cat? Or half-starved. That thin clothing clinging to her revealed far too much of her slender form. Gods! Had she managed to misplace her armor _and_ her cloak?

'Twas just as well he had returned, if her emotions would continue to cause such oversights. No doubt she'd also forgotten to eat the whole day. So early in the eve to retire, though! She should not be allowed to keep running away. But what had prompted it this time?

While often insufferable, it could not be _impossible_ to determine her moods; her reactions would surely be predictable if one observed carefully enough—sense could be made if his considerable skills focused upon it—but clearly he had missed something.

Edwin glanced at Raviwr.

"Raviwr not see, sorries; he gots a bath for her room, he did."

Of course he had. "Ingratiating little sycophant."

The imp let out a cackle. "Master wins this round, yes?"

* * *

=S=

On choppy waves, she floated—no, _sank_ —warmth overflowed in her mouth 'til she choked.

The last time—the last time she drowned in a river of blood, the figure on the raft had been Sarevok. Now the figure was the same color as the water. (Red.) It stretched out a hand—

 _'It feels just like I'm drowning.'_

Of course: it could be no one else.

But this was different. Malicious, purposeful, these waves wanted her—pulled her down—

Black.

The water that pressed into her ears, that trickled into her mouth, that covered her eyes, was black.

Choking, Sajantha jerked upright, spitting—water? Just water. A pain stabbed into her foot as she kicked out—as she couldn't kick out any further—the hollow metal drum of the tub rang around her. The tub. The _tub_. And its water near-freezing, her fingers wrinkled and swollen. Clammy and cold.

She'd fallen asleep in the bathtub.

Empty of its lulling warmth, 'twas little better than a cold metal coffin. Toes and fingers shriveled and pruned, she stumbled out to drip upon the floor, reaching for the rough-spun towel waiting for her.

Was there anything clean to wear in her pile of gear? She hadn't even hung up her earlier outfit to dry; it lay in a sodden pile atop the rest of her clothing. She dug through with her foot, frowning. Something was missing. Her pack, her cloak, her belt, her scabbard. What else…

Her coin-purse.

Sajantha's stomach dropped. Not in her pockets, not in her pack, not on the floor nor stashed upon the nightstand (or beneath it) not under the bed (nor in it) and the search ended only with her heart screaming in her ears, sheets and clothes a mess strewn about—everything everywhere, but nothing of what she needed.

The money was gone.

She threw on clothes—anything, anything would do—and flew out into the hall.

Her heart pounded, so did her fist upon his door. Between beats came the space to think, but all that filled her head was _gods oh gods—_

"Edwin— _Edwin!"_

The door remained stolid, moving but barely beneath her assault. No one came. No one. He was gone, too.

 _'We are all alone.'_

He wouldn't answer, would he; no one would answer, because he was gone—everyone was gone—and so was all the gold–

(alone)

 _"Edwin–!"_

(gone gone gone)

And the panicking tide swept within her, rolling into a turbulence she couldn't contain— "You _ass!"_ she screamed at the door. Something got in the way of her shouting, something that made her voice come out cracked, broken.

(he had left her they had all left her)

"You selfish bastard! I could be out here _dying,_ and you wouldn't care." She could scream, she could cry, she could beg, and no one would hear her; no one would answer. Like the disinterested guards looking the other way, no one cared.

The door wavered a bit beneath her kick. "You wouldn't care at all if I dropped dead, right now."

 _'I wash my hands of you.'_

And her breath hitched in her lungs—light-headed, nauseated—she fell against the door. The flurry funneled through her head—too much to stand—

The door flew free and stole the rest of her balance; she stumbled towards the door frame, instead of stumbling through it, into the figure on the other side of the door: red-faced and full of fury.

"What!" Edwin demanded.

He was still here. He hadn't left.

"You…" She swallowed.

 _"Yes?"_ He leaned forward, and her feet moved back.

She licked her lips. He was here—still here—he'd not disappeared like the money; he'd not left. He'd not left.

"You stir up the entire hall, and then your voice deserts you? Did you expend all of it screaming nonsense? _What is it?"_

Movement, behind him. In his bed. The slow churn of her thoughts ground to a complete halt.

Edwin grabbed her shoulders.

"The—the gold," she managed, summoning her errant gaze back to him and whatever calm remained to her. "It's gone." The words stuck, a hard lump in her throat. "All of it."

His sharp nails moved against her skin, far less piercing than his gaze. "Oh," he said, "that will not do."

* * *

=E=

Sajantha's was not the only outburst to ever disrupt these halls, nor even the loudest; the door had suffered only minor injury—the other patrons knew enough to stay out of it—and 'twould take something far more drastic to stir Lehtinan's uncaring guards into intervention.

"There is no need for you to linger about, woman; I am done with you." Edwin adjusted his robes, settling them back in place. Still early enough: this missing coin could not be so very long gone, the one bright spot to a (nearly) ruined night. He ignored the glares of the whore whom he had dismissed. (As though he would have allowed the wench to remain in his room unsupervised! This was how such things went missing.)

He turned to Sajantha, only she was glaring, too. The ends of her hair somehow still wet—it had been two hours!—clothing haphazardly assembled (and nothing even on her feet), Sajantha stood with hands on her hips as she leveled a disapproving stare upon him. "Don't talk to her like that."

What was this? "I shall speak how I please; do not presume to order me."

"You can't treat her disrespectfully and then turn around and be courteous with me."

"Why should I take the trouble to be courteous with _you?"_ Gods! As taxing as it had been to endure Mae'Var that last stretch, it had never been this difficult to conceal his frustration; how did Sajantha manage to send such feelings boiling over with this frequency? And why was she so determined to dress improperly? "You wish this done, this pickpocket found? Be silent and allow me to work."

Now just where had he penned that inscription? And… where was Sajantha? He glanced back: she had stopped in the middle of the hall, hands clenched.

"You're—are you just like all the other men here?" Whatever one might name that look on her face, it certainly was not 'happy'. "Are paladins the only ones who can treat a woman with anything like respect?"

'Paladins!' His jaw clenched. Must she be so _irritating?_ "You prefer to be seen as some helpless damsel in distress? They have nothing better to do than rescue senseless strumpets flailing about, this is true. How in the Hells did you manage to lose the money, speaking of this?"

Her face bloomed red.

Edwin sighed. "What did you do?"

"Me? What did _I_ do?Oh, I only had some man feel entitled to reach his hand up the back of my skirts, so I guess I was too _distracted_ to notice he'd—"

 _What!_ Edwin's fingers tightened together. "I did not see anyone lying handless in a pool of blood when I walked in." She had a sword, did she not?

"He… he only grabbed at me."

"Such things must be dealt with swiftly and with force. You are always standing up for others, yes? Try standing up for yourself. Next time—" _Gods._ Disrespect only escalated if not dealt with. He took in a breath. "Such filth needs to be taught their place. Why are you suddenly so hesitant to use your blade?"

Her gaze dropped, her temper deflating in the sag of her shoulders. "I… I've seen enough blood."

"You are afraid." He shook his head. "This fool deserves nothing from you but disgust. If lines must be crossed, let it be on your terms. You are not here to suffer such insult."

She looked up. "You're saying I should kill them?"

'Them,' not 'him'—more than one of these sleaze-leeches? Bah! No doubt the entire inn was filled with such worms. "This is oft the only way to prove oneself." Certainly amongst certain subjects. "I had to make examples during my tenure with the Guild so none would dare cross me." The reputation of his order served only as introduction—rumors stretched only so far—some things needed be proven to be believed. "It is an investment against future transgressions."

"Can't you do it, then?"

"Why? They already fear me."

"Exactly. You'd only have to say something, so no one would get hurt." She chewed on her lip. "They act differently when you're around."

Aye, he would be having words with Lehtinan—and his 'guards'—after this. "What of when I'm _not_ around?" Infinitely more important. "If you are so against using a blade, sort your magic." Yet that obstacle required his attention, as well. Did he not also not have the Scroll to finish deciphering. One thing at a time! "Acting thus, they forfeit any right to be dealt with fairly; you cannot care if they get hurt." As if she should care for the fates of such worthless pieces of waste in the first place.

Pfeh! She thought him like those others? "(One does not need be a _paladin_ to be unlike such filth.)"

Sajantha tilted her head. "What was her name?"

"Whose?" But the disapproval on her face served elaboration enough. Camille, was it?

Sajantha's lips thinned.

Corrine. Carmine? Bah! "Why does this matter? It proves nothing! Who cares?"

"I care. And you should."

"Enough of this." How had he allowed her to distract him again? _"You_ should care about finding this gold. It is still in the pouch?" At least this he had planned for.

"Is okay," Raviwr said to her—too large to perch on her shoulder, but he nearly tried. "Master will find it."

"Why do you think I gave that pouch to you? It has an enchantment upon it that we may detect it." And more importantly _her,_ if she but managed to hold onto it. "I will begin casting. Please take this opportunity to finish clothing yourself." He did not look up from his spellbook, but the sound of her bare feet against the wood grew quieter. A door closed.

 _"Evnek sia lyrik sil."_ The divination magic settled over him, yet this time its presence registered only faintly. He frowned. Distance could not possibly be a factor, not when he had earlier sensed it perfectly whilst days away.

Hm. Perhaps another of the divination spells he'd accumulated these last months would prove useful if the attunement to his arcane mark did not serve. Just what interfered to so obscure its exact location? At the moment 'twas clear only the pouch remained within the premises, which was better news than not. How much remained _inside_ it was another matter.

The insult would not be tolerated, never mind the inconvenience. Whomever proved responsible, they would not outlast the night.

Returned with her vest and gear—and footwear—Sajantha echoed the sentiment: "Whoever did this—" Her eyes looked to him with a challenge, flashing gray in the dim light.

Hm. "I had wondered what might ever incite your thirst for vengeance."

She turned her glare to the hall.

The signal's strength had grown in this corner. How idiotic a thief, to escape so little distance? While the depths of human stupidity were unfathomable, 'twould be equally stupid to trust to good fortune; this could just as easily be a trap.

He lifted his hand to the door, " _Nomeno ifni nific,"_ and the lock clicked as it turned over. Ah, yes, this was one of the hourly rooms, wasn't it? The door swung open to reveal the scene they had unsurprisingly interrupted.

"Wh-what!" The large man looked like nothing so much as an over-sized turtle trapped on its back as his sweaty red face peered around his bouncing buxom passenger. "The Hells—!" he choked out.

"No need to get up; this will only take a moment."

Outraged, the man pushed the whore to the side—did he actually mean to stand?—but with a single spell from Edwin, fell back upon the bed.

"A _moment._ " Louder, more out of irritation than a belief that volume (or repetition) might penetrate the thug's skull. Commiseration might have been easier to manage had Sajantha's own interruption cut things less close.

Speaking of close: the item certainly seemed closer, yet… not close enough. The other side of these walls? Though no hallways led there…

"Nope," agreed Raviwr. "Close, though, close."

Edwin released the spell.

"You bastard," the man spat, trying to sit up straight. As if he might fumble for dignity, having had so little to begin with.

Edwin let out a sigh. "Casting aspersions unto my parentage? Once I may humor in an evening, but twice?" He glanced at Sajantha, who had gone very quiet. "No wonder it puts you in such a state. However do you manage it?"

"I… try not to think about it." As if to underscore the sentiment, she'd already half-turned away.

Of course she did. Turn the other cheek. Encouraging such passive behavior was folly, and he cast a spell just to prove his point, a polymorph which left the whore screaming on behalf of her newly amphibious partner. It would wear off within the hour.

Sajantha did not even glare at him for it, except to reprimand: "We don't have time for that." In her hurry to leave the room, she nearly tripped.

* * *

=S=

How close had she come to interrupting Edwin from the same? No! Don't think about that. And _certainly_ don't think about what he might look like, beneath the robes that hid all of him but face and fingers, don't think about—

A touch fell lightly on her elbow, spurring a flurry of goosebumps, and Sajantha jumped. "Wh-what?"

Edwin—of _course_ —had been unaffected, save a slight frown that rose as he looked at her; he tilted his head somewhere between scrutinizing and perplexed. "What is it?" No reason for _him_ to be fazed at all, was there? But her heart was pounding so hard he could surely hear it.

She bit down on her lip. "Nothing."

"You are an extraordinarily poor liar, my dear. How many more of these pathetic attempts at deflecting must I accept before calling you out?"

Gods. _Gods._ "Just—just one more." How much of her face could he read? Surely not so much of it, else he'd have noticed something long before.

At least she had stopped worrying over the lost money—for a moment. And it all washed back over her as they stepped into the corner of the hall where the last door waited. If they failed to find her purse here…

With his brow still a bit furrowed, Edwin turned his focus to the walls. "Hn," he said. "There is something…"

Something, aye: it crawled across her skin. "Do you feel that?" Something lurked here, something hiding like a chill (a spell?); it drifted, overlaid like a melancholic mist that blurred at the edges of her vision whenever she turned her head.

She stopped in front of the door, and glanced up at Edwin. The door swung open from his spell.

Darkness enough to take her breath—as if she'd walked through a wall of it—though Edwin strode into the room without notice. He ignored the room's owner as well, a dwarf whose hand strayed to his belt. "Eh! Ye can't be barging in here—"

" 'Tis not here, either," Edwin announced.

But something was. Softness caught her step, the ground giving way beneath her foot. A stuffed animal's button eyes stared up at her. As she reached for the stuffed bear, its name tickled at her like a whisper. Faint as a whisper—but nothing so soft, it rattled—lost inside her; she had to set it free.

"Littleman." Adopted by the goddess Yondalla to be the first of her people. "What's a dwarf doing with a halfling toy…?"

The dwarf's face went white. He took a step forward, teeth clenched with a grimace.

"Ah-ah," Edwin scolded. _"Xarzith persvek bekihi."_ A blue glow of energy pulsed from his hands and the dwarf trembled—frozen—and slipped to the floor, whites of his eyes rolling. Metal—a blade—clattered down beside him.

Edwin stepped over the twitching figure without looking down. "Come now. We have more pressing concerns than children's playthings."

It _was_ a child's, wasn't it? Well-worn, a torn arm had been patched with care. A spot of red, there—blood? Shiny button eyes that looked like tears, looked like crying.

"You killed him." The bear fell from her hands, soft (limp) against the ground.

In the doorway, Edwin had paused. "Killed whom?"

Who? Who? A name breathed out beneath her fingers but the bear wept blood its patched face torn and emptying.

She turned away. Ducking her head, a shiver rose through her, and the bear stared up with glassy eyes. "He's dead. He's dead."

"I see his ghost," the dwarf whispered. The spell had released him, but he shook as though still cold. "All the time." His eyes were wide. "Do ye see him, too?"

A child's bloody broken body small so small—not stuffing spread from its insides—she closed her eyes, still saw it.

 _Wellyn_ , said a voice (the bear, but bears don't talk; it wasn't real), _Wellyn Wellyn Wellyn_ ; did the dwarf hear it, too?

"Don't let him take me! Make it stop—make that bloody ghost leave me alone!"

"Gladly."

And there sounded a spell, then a thump; the dwarf went silent and still.

"There," said Edwin. "May we go now?"

"He killed him." Sajantha hugged her arms, as if that might hold in her shiver. "He murdered a little boy."

"So, your divination reappears at its own leisure, I see. (As stubborn as the rest of her.)"

"I felt it." Her hand rose to her (necklace) chest, fingers skipping along the (scar) skin (skinners skinless another dark room full of death and shadows deep enough to choke) and no, _no—don't look—don't. Don't._ She sucked in air fast through her clenched teeth. _Chattering_ teeth. The corners of the room faded to nonexistence, just shadows, a black that ate the walls.

A touch on her shoulder: Edwin brushed past her. Color. Sound. Warmth. "You are freezing." He paused, fingers raised a moment to her cheek. His touch… if she were freezing, he was burning. And all too soon his hand withdrew. "No need to linger about; we are in a hurry, yes? Let us be gone. Unless the gold is in that bear, I do not care."

The dwarf lay spread-eagled upon the floor, a puddle of blood reaching out from beneath him. She blinked and it was gone, the only red remaining in the drab room coloring the man in the entry.

"He is not the only criminal in this inn." Edwin's hand hovered on the doorknob as he looked back. "And you are a fool if you think he is the only murderer."

Sajantha met Edwin's dark eyes; he held the door open with his sharp fingers. "After you."

* * *

A woman stepped out of one of the rooms on the opposite side of the hall, a smile on her face. Her familiar face.

"Lacey!" Sajantha met her in the middle of the hall. She should have said something, said _anything,_ but all the words she ought to offer clogged up in her throat; offering condolences was far too hard to do when she needed to be offering apologies.

But Lacey didn't know the truth.

Shame and relief battled inside her. Lacey at least didn't look still in mourning, not the way she was smiling. But then again, Lacey had first taught her how to fake it. _Chin up._

Well, Sajantha could at least give her something real to smile about: "I… Fadrique is dead." That was it, all that she had to give.

Something hard flashed in Lacey's eyes. "Good."

"You, ah…" Sajantha cleared her throat. "You look well."

Lacey glanced behind her at her client's retreating back, and shrugged, her shoulders not lifting back up very high. "They give you a tip sometimes, when they think you like it."

"Oh." Hardly a surprise to find the smile had been wholly false, but it still managed to hurt.

Lacey's gaze snagged on Edwin who—with his hands on his hips and cloak widening his stance—was taking up a good deal of space. Edwin miraculously had managed not to insert himself into this conversation but it would surely be taking a toll upon his patience.

Lacey gave him an uneasy look. "This fellow, he..." She took a step back, but mirrored Edwin's posture, arms akimbo. "He ain't giving you trouble, is he?"

"No." And with a sudden sick spell of dizziness, she had to wonder at just _why_ Edwin might have so little to say. "No! No trouble." Had she truly been chilled just a few moments ago? She may as well be afire now.

Don't think about whether the two of them had ever… no. No reason to think of it, no reason for it to matter! So what if they had? No, the only awkwardness prickling here was her own, these thoughts she had no business having.

"Something's up, though." Lacey glanced down the hall, tugging her thick hair into a loose binding. "I've not got much more 'n a minute or two, afore I should report to Nin, but—anything I can help you with?"

"What could you possibly do?" Edwin sneered.

"Don't talk to her like that!"

"It's—it's alright, Sajantha. A fair question, yeah, but when I don't even know what's going on, I can't exactly answer it." Lacey turned to Edwin. "Happens I owe you, sir. For the potion, right? Tell me what's the matter."

Edwin lifted his chin. "We are tracking someone. But the trail ends here."

"Oh—that's an easy one, it is; there's a back to this place. Did you know? A whole 'nother section. I can show you, but… please. Please don't be telling anyone I did."

"Back rooms? Hm. I have heard rumors of this."

Light on her feet, Lacey hurried to a wall. "They're all connected, these secret rooms. We hide back here when the garrison raids us."

 _Hide?_ "Why do you have to hide? I didn't think your, um. I didn't think there was any law against it."

"You… you really don't know?" Lacey looked up, hand dropping from the wall—leaving an outline of a door cracked open between the panels. "Honey. Whoring's not illegal, no. But whores get to keep their money." She looked down. "I've gotta close this. Good luck finding who you're tracking."

The panel slid shut, leaving them alone on this side of the hall, dim and empty, an echo that hit something hollow inside her.

"Did you know that?" Sajantha whirled on him. "Edwin—did you know? They—they—what did she mean?" If they didn't get to keep their money… "She didn't mean… they're not _slaves?_ Did you _know!"_

Enough light remained to see him frowning. "Why are you looking at me like this!"

"This is horrible." This had been going on the _whole time?_ "They're just… they, they can't even… This is horrible."

"This is not my fault. Bah! Blame Lehtinan; I am not the one employing slaves!"

Hadn't he, though? Back in Thay, all the nobles had slaves, didn't they? And doing business here… had he known? Would it have made a difference? She raised a hand to her mouth.

"Do not look at me this way."

No, she couldn't look at him at all. Facing forward, she hurried down the quiet passage. The same dingy halls—in even more disrepair than the main area—more from high traffic than neglect (and the women had to _hide_ back here, so Lehtinan could keep _using_ them, and so could any man who _—_ )

"Sajantha." Edwin's long legs covered ground far faster; he reached for her arm and held it 'til she slowed.

 _Slaves._ Lacey and the rest of them were all slaves. Gods. She wiped at her eyes, not looking up at him. "Let's just find the gold."

The pressure on her arm pulled a bit. "It is over here." And he said nothing more as they walked, but the motion at the edges of her vision kept hinting glances at her.

But then something else ensnared his attention: Edwin must have at last sensed his weave, for he walked straight up to the door with a purposeful confidence. Though he walked everywhere that way, didn't he? Striding into the room as if he owned it, only no one to impress, within: the residents of the room stirred—well, one of them, a bit—but didn't even blink. Most of their eyes were closed, in something deeper than sleep, for the door flying open should have woken them. Drugged?

Ah. That thick burning her throat—this wasn't incense in the air. A closer inspection revealed a tubed contraption—some manner of pipe, perhaps? Never mind, not what they sought. But—there! She coughed, covering her mouth, as she reached: the black-and-gold pouch peeked out from a pile of pillows. "Got it!"

"How much remains?"

"I—I can't tell." No time to count it, in this room full of smoke; they stepped back into the hall where she leaned, lightheaded, against the wall.

Edwin glanced into the room, lip curling. "Pfeh. Worthless wastes of life already. We are fortunate 'twas an addict too lazy too escape very far." Was he actually disappointed? Perhaps he had anticipated a battle. "Such brainless pursuits of pleasure I've never understood."

"What about what you were doing earlier this evening?" The words fell from her mouth before she'd the chance to think them through.

He tilted his head. "What was I doing?"

Heat crept up her cheeks. Gods, he wouldn't make her _say_ it, surely.

"Ah. But there is a difference: I am not surrendering control in the process."

She tore her gaze from his smirk just in time to see they weren't alone, though the slouched figure shuffling towards them didn't appear especially threatening.

Edwin's hands were back on his hips as he faced the wiry unshaven man.

"Four-hunnerd," the man drawled. "For a hit? You folks buying in, then?"

"Four-hundred." Sajantha let out a sigh. "That's all he must have taken." Bad, aye, but not _so_ bad—

"Four-hundred _roldons,_ I imagine." Edwin looked up. "Black lotus, yes? It is extremely expensive in extract form."

"Roldon?"

"A roldon's ten danters." The man glanced between them. "Where you folks from?" His eyes narrowed. "Four-thousand gold, that be."

"He took—he took four _-thousand?_ No. But that's— _no._ " There'd been that much in there? Her fingers scrabbled through the purse. "He can't—he can't. _Edwin."_ Gods, no, four- _thousand_ could not be lost!

Edwin's fingers flicked through the air. _"Dout ricin jaka sini._ Surrender your gold unto me."

With wooden movements—an obedient blankness to him—the man did not hesitate to unlatch his wealth from his belt and relinquish it.

"Pfeh. Not even close." But Edwin passed the coin-purse towards her. "No doubt Lehtinan seizes his gains immediately." He turned his attention back into the den, where one of the prone figures twitched. "Which one was he."

Why? That grim profile did not seem especially favorable for whomever roused it. "I didn't get a good look; he was behind me. I just, I jumped away—and then you walked in."

Edwin's hand brushed over his chest, fingering the spell pouches strapped across it. "Hn."

Sajantha froze as ice darted down her back—screams, were those screams? The narrow tunnels bounced the cries along, distorting the distance, but the muffled roar of it had to mean many. Just where were they coming from?

Edwin's flat gaze met her surely wide-eyed one, and it took a moment longer to realize why he wasn't so concerned: cheering. These raised voices were _cheering._

But with the stone walls looming so close, her nerves took a moment to settle. Sajantha cocked her head. "What could that be about?" This late at night? It had to be something of note.

"Not our business." But Edwin let out a sigh, falling into step beside her and at last pulling his gaze from the room.

"On this side of the wall, yes? It appears this is not the only room hidden back here."

The volume made it an easy trail to follow; they walked quickly to where the hallway split: at the end of it stood another door, this one with a far-more-wary guard posted in front of it. "You got permission to be back here?" The guard's eyes paused on her, and narrowed. Whatever the clientele looked like, she wasn't it.

Fingertips settled lightly on her back as Edwin directed her past him. "Do not waste our time with stupid questions."

The door opened, immersing them in a wave of sound and heat: the packed people pressed against them even as they fought to skirt around. Edwin's grip on her shoulder tightened. "Ugh. Must they crowd so close?"

Far too many folk had gathered here _not_ to be knocking together; after a particularly ill-mannered bump, Sajantha carefully tucked the coin-purse into her vest. No losing that again! Fortunately, none here looked to be interested in either her coin or her bosom, so focused were they on the show—what was on the other side of the railing? Too many bodies in the way to tell.

Edwin could probably see over most of them, but her line of sight was restricted to other people's backs, until an opening—there!—a break through the crowd, and she ducked into it. What was at the front? What in the Hells was going on?

So many bodies packed so tight together! She struggled in a breath of hot air, and had to squeeze through several people before being granted a view as she stepped up to the railing.

And her heart sank right through her chest.

No. Oh, _no._

A pit—the room opened up into a great pit—sloped stone walls angled too high for those at the bottom to climb out of, though going by the smears of red more than one had _tried._

Sand and blood covered the floor below, along with a scattering of broken weapons. A single dwarf withstood the crowd's calls, though his slumped posture did not suggest he knew how to use his own weapon especially well. This… this was some kind of fighting arena? And the crowd: spectators? But this was not a _sport,_ not when the man penned below shook with terror—

A prisoner of some sort? But, no—a _slave,_ they must have more slaves.

Outrage filled her with no outlet but her voice: "Stop it!" How could these people be cheering? _"Stop it!"_

Only a few of them looked up, returning to their viewing with a dismissive disinterest that struck her deep and curled her fingers into fists.

A touch on her arm, and Sajantha whirled with a speed that caused Edwin to withdraw his hand back just as quickly. "We can't let them do this!" She had to shout over the crowd, but he moved closer as if to hear her.

" 'We,' " he repeated. "You and I?"

"You." She had to admit it. "You can't let them do this. Stop them."

Edwin's head tilted back as he cast his gaze about. "You would have me destroy these pedestrian rabble for the life of a slave?"

The men shouting for death? Who turned suffering into a game for their own profit—their own amusement? Their gazes had already returned to the pens below; their raucous cheers burned her ears. Slave? _Slaves_ : there must be more of them—how often did they do this? Every night. Surely, every night. How many deaths added up every day?

Her hands clenched tighter. "Is that what it will take?"

And Edwin looked thoughtful for a moment, as if he might just. "The world is not yours to shape," he said, instead, as he folded his arms. "Such things have taken place since before you were even aware of this city's existence, and will continue ever-beyond. Slaves will fight and die, regardless of who is in their audience."

The loud whoops rose louder—the other fighter being introduced? Her neck craned back towards the pit below. Not a slave, this: the green-skinned creature just released was large enough to devour a stretch of ground in a handful of steps. The dwarf—a third its size—was armed only with a sling.

Sajantha pressed her lips together. "Not today." She already stood pressed into the edge of the balcony; she sent a glance over her shoulder as she shifted her weight. "You said you'd protect me?" The metal railing was cool on her fingertips. "Let's see if you really are a man of your word."

Hair whipped in her face and the sloped drop stole her breath in a rush as she slid, then hit the ground with a jolt that knocked the rest of the air from her. Pain rocked her as she labored to her feet and brushed the clotted dirt from her hands before drawing her sword.

The mottled green-skinned beast might just be close to twice her height if it straightened from its crouch. It had looked large even from the balcony; down here, it was massive—in size and strength—enough to tear her in half. A single brush against the dwarf sent the poor man flying. Still breathing—was he still breathing? She was supposed to save him; she needed to save him! Please, please, _please_ let her do something good for once.

A long-snouted nose curled over mismatched sharp teeth, and freakishly long fingers tipped with claws dragged against the ground as it moved towards its fallen prey.

Sajantha grabbed a club upon the dirt floor—another slave's lost weapon?—and hurled it; its rolling path distracted the none-too-intelligent creature long enough for her to close the distance.

Her blade alone wouldn't do enough to damage something so large. Not before it retaliated. Once she stabbed it… she'd be left with only its attention. One free strike, then. And it too large for her to reach anything important. Hamstrings, though. That could work.

The blade was intended for stabbing more than swinging, but its enchanted edge sliced through the thick flesh with ease, enough to send it stumbling, large arms swiping through the air, claws tearing—a blind swipe—but it nearly struck her as it flailed to the side. She jumped back out of its reach as it tried fumbling to its feet.

The dwarf lay still—stunned?—on the floor as she sprinted towards him. He couldn't be dead. This couldn't be for naught—! No blood around him, though; the only blood was the creature's, thick and green upon her blade. The dwarf let out a cough, curling up.

Thank the gods! "Here!" She knelt, slipping a healing potion up to his lips, and he was aware enough to start drinking, even if some of the blue liquid spilled onto his beard.

The cheering of the crowd had at some point turned to shouts and screams—Edwin?—she started to glance back up, but a towering shadow stole her attention: the creature had lumbered back onto its ungainly legs and lunged forward. No—where was the injury?—surely she'd struck it harder than that!

Don't look back—don't look back to the stands, however loud their noise—she could not tear her eyes away as it streaked towards her, too fast to dodge, too large to block; she steadied her stance and tightened her grip.

* * *

=E=

 _Now_ she decided to show backbone—this was what it took? Well, he would not stand in the way of progress. (Howsoever presumptuously it arrived.)

The horror Edwin had cast to disperse the audience (no less annoying, as they flailed about; a loose elbow caught him in the ribs, activating his Stoneskin enchantment) tangled them up handily with the sudden influx of guards—the confusion and terror may well have been contagious—and left none worth heeding as he summoned arrows of flame.

The troll fell just before it reached her, still but for its shivering skin as the last embers died out.

Dark green eyes cut the distance as Sajantha looked up, sword lowered to her side.

"Do not imagine I will be jumping after you," he called down.

"Then teleport," she answered, and disappeared around the corner.

She—she could not simply—! _Bah!_ But there was no use wasting another moment with the sheep here; the guards were already beginning to struggle through the crowd.

He reached the arena floor to find its only occupant—the slave—drinking from a healing potion.

The dwarf gestured. "Over there—the slave pens."

Edwin stifled a sigh. 'Twas clear how the remainder of the night would unfold. At least it would take her mind from mourning missing money.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _The 'slaves' sections are taken from some of my older writings, so while I have edited and replaced a lot there are still probably tonal fragments that are a bit off, so, er, hopefully they aren't too jarring, sorry! -_-;  
_

 _(Edwin's prostitute is named Cominda, by the way... ;D)_

 _Thanks so much to everyone for your comments! They are what make this whole thing fun. :)_


	28. Rescue

**[Author's Note]:** _Does anyone need a warning against a bit of swearing? Because, that!_

* * *

=S=

Bars lined the walls, floor to ceiling, cell after cell packed tight with prisoners, tight enough to poison the air with their fear. With their pain.

Somewhere down the dim hall, metal rasped, hinges screeched.

Ice flashed down Sajantha's spine. Her skin crawled, it _writhed,_ like a separate layer (the layer the skinners would have cut free), a frantic buzz _(run run run)_ that traveled down to freeze her center.

 _He was coming._ With his steady step that echoed, with the inevitability that left her breath choked in her throat, gagging. He was coming.

 _No._ Her sight blurred, fading the bars and the prisoners from sight.

No—Edwin. _Edwin_ was coming. Right behind her. Whether he'd teleported or jumped, he would come. Not alone; she wasn't alone.

They would save these prisoners, release these chains, and leave her memories locked up far behind.

And the buzz of her nerves quieted to a hum as a familiar presence brushed her back.

"You're late," was all she could think to say, as if he might have battled that flashback for her.

* * *

=E=

A slave ring. It certainly explained why so many useless guards flit around the place, considering they did not bother enforcing any discipline upon the outer area; 'twould have been easy to believe even without the proof of it lining this hallway in cell after cell of dismal occupants.

Mumbles and moans followed him, grimy fingers reaching out from behind bars as Edwin pushed forward. Cleaning, he would require a _thorough_ cleaning after this; the stench of human misery tended to cling to one's clothes.

Mae'Var had kept far fewer prisoners (they never did last long); the last time Edwin had walked so long a gauntlet of human waste was in the mines last year, a location reminiscent with the same dirt floors and withered slaves who cringed back from his mage-light.

None here had been used well, but 'twas clear which batch were gladiators and which merely feed for the beasts; whimpers rose on the left while those on the right stared out in grim silence. Edwin ignored them all.

His heels clicked against the ground: the packed dirt gave way to wooden floorboards in a semblance of civility at what must be the guards' entrance. And while the sound of footsteps on the ledge above named them near, there were no guards down here _yet,_ so Sajantha was heretofore safe from her headstrong thoughtlessness of rushing ahead.

Truly, did she so enjoy tempting fate? Thereshe stood, in full view of the stairway where reinforcements would pour in as soon as the alert spread. The chaos could reach them at any moment; Edwin sped his steps to reach her.

"You're late." Her voice was quiet, with a wry note to it that kept it from a reprimand.

"What mess have you mired us into now? (Threshold, there should be a daily threshold for this.)" The evening did not look to be improving anytime soon.

Beside him, Sajantha took hold of the bars of the nearby cell, and leaned into them as she spoke. "The waiting," she said, nearly too softly to be heard. "The waiting hurts just as much." She rested her forehead against the bars, hands framing her face. "Fear coils like a spring inside you, tighter and tighter."

Just what was this about? And to whom did she speak? Within the cell, a figure shaped from shadows stood, tall but for the neck bent towards her.

"But it doesn't matter," she continued, "nothing else matters. Not when he's coming. Not when you know, at any moment…"

"…They'll call your name," a hoarse voice on the other side of the cage finished.

Whatever this little exchange was, they hadn't time to indulge it. Which was made even more clear by the guard now descending the stairs: "This area's off-limits" —the man glanced between them with a frown— "what're you doing?"

"Hmph. Inspecting the merchandise. More than a little disappointing." Edwin included Sajantha in his glare before rounding it off at the guard. "Do not disturb us, worm; you'll not stand in our way."

The guard's eyes narrowed. Not stupid enough to fall for the bluff, nor smart enough to pretend to. "You're not supposed to be back here."

Edwin's spell struck before the man had time to cry an alarm, never mind draw his sword, but more of his fellows would fill the hall as surely as the stale stink of these prisoners did.

"Sajantha." He turned back to her. In the open like this, she could not be a more perfect target. "This is not the _time!"_ Nor would it ever be. Conversing with slaves? This should not be at the top of anyone's list, never mind when a barracks of guards was about to descend!

His mind ran through his collection of defenses with the ease of familiarity, if not the energy from earlier today. At least the inevitability of discovery lent enough time to prepare!—but what would protect her? An orb of preservation, perhaps, altered to reflect sight away…

Bah! The sound of footsteps— _many_ footsteps—meant the guards had arrived at last. Reflect sight away, hm, invisibility would serve just as well: _"De shio saurivic."_ Edwin reached for where he'd last seen Sajantha's arm and ended up with a hold on her wrist. Her skin was still strangely chilled.

Was she ill? It could explain her lack of focus. Not that there was time to indulge _that,_ either. Gods, how did he always end up dragged into the most inopportune quagmires around her? (As if the 'Child of Chaos' bit needed reminding.) "Just _once_ I would like an evening to go according to plan," he muttered, pulling her beneath the staircase.

Wedged together in the tight space, her shoulder pressed into him, but she hadn't yet made a sound. "Are your brains still scrambled?" he inquired. "I need to know whether you will be a help or a hindrance here." Far simpler to teleport them free of here. But once the anthill had been stirred, insects were best stomped out with haste, and there was every chance she'd try to escape should he ever again attempt to exile her to her room.

The platform shook above them, wood rattling, as the shouting guards looked around.

Sajantha announced her presence with a soft breath that blew out against his cheek. A light touch skipped up his arm—as if following his sleeve to his shoulder—and then came a whisper: "Edwin?"

"Who else, do you suppose?"

Her grip tightened.

"You want to save all these slaves?" The air was far too warm with their breaths in such a close space. "Worry about saving your own skin first." This would be enough to motivate her, would it not?

"There's a mage above us." Her voice was an odd tickle with its owner out of sight.

Indeed—a syllable or two of the spell being cast was audible over the rest of the guards—the mage was casting something that very shortly would reveal them both.

"You still have that wand, yes?" It would save time, allowing Edwin to remain on the offensive.

"Yes."

He emerged from the stairs, his own magic flying fast before the enemy spellcaster had completed a dispel, striking just as the shields around the mage went down.

One could hope Sajantha had the sense to remain out of sight, but one could not plan for it.

The stairs beside him thundered with reinforcements. At least they had arranged themselves in a convenient line for a lightning bolt.

* * *

=S=

The pain of casting the wand left her hands shaking, her breaths fast; Sajantha staggered a step, then tucked it back into her belt before she dropped it.

The men on the stairs might not have time to spread out before Edwin spelled through them, but the archers could still be trouble.

And for a moment she pictured reaching up between the steps and stabbing through, slicing and striking through feet and shoe, and without seeing, how would she know when to stop, how could she keep that mad frenzy from taking over, that feeling—that _feeling—_ as she'd stabbed (and stabbed) through Fadrique. Far too close to her wild magic when she let loose, let it carry her away. Where would it take her? Shuddering, she dropped her fingers from her sword-hilt.

The stairs buckled and creaked with all the weight above them. What might she put to use down here? The space looked to be a makeshift storage area, full of boxes and barrels and chains. _A chain._ She hefted it—much heavier than it looked!—and reaching through the slats in the stairs, she drew it 'round one set of ankles and pulled.

There wasn't nearly enough room between the steps to pull him through, but more than enough to lose his balance; the man slipped, foot nearly kicking her in the face as it caught between the planks of wood and he fell forward, knocking into his comrades on the way down.

Could it reach to the stairs' wooden pillar, to tie him to? She secured the free end of the chain, winding it around the supports of the staircase. Quick— _quick—_

A shadow grew behind her.

She whirled, loose chain still in hand, and flung the end of it. If it hadn't been so heavy to heave, she might have managed actual injury—or if the guard hadn't had the reflex to raise his buckler, warding her attack off with little more than a clunk: he continued to advance.

Beside her—a barrel—she grabbed at the lid of it, had just time to heft it up before his sword flashed and split the wood halfway: half-caught, the lid burned her palms as it dragged down, yanked from her wrenched muscles.

Her attacker shook the splintered lid free of his blade, lifting his arm for a second swing—

Sajantha ducked, reaching for the chain that looped before him—and the sound of obediently stumbling boots followed as she pulled.

Gaining more grip, she flung the chain out as he lunged towards her, and the end of it—a clamp of heavy steel—struck the side of his face with a wet thunk. _Not fast enough this time._

He spat blood and bone—his snarl bared missing teeth—and his free hand came up to hold his face in horror.

* * *

=E=

With the incompetent wizard adversary disposed of, and the guards for the most part neatly corralled to efficiently experience Edwin's spellwork, there was time to address secondary concerns: the stragglers. Edwin took care of the one attempting to sneak up behind him, but there was still one left: a guard clutching his ruined face, Sajantha standing before him, breast heaving.

Edwin closed the distance, shoved him aside. _"Valignat."_

The blaze from the fire lit up Sajantha's face, dancing in her wide eyes.

"Did you forget you have a sword?" She'd not even drawn it!

She flinched, then gave her head a shake, though her unfocused eyes made it difficult to tell to what this was in answer to.

No time for even another glare—something moved behind them—he spun.

"Thank you," said the large prisoner.

As if aught of this had been done for his benefit! "Did anyone give you permission to speak, slave?"

The dark-skinned face grew darker, with all the defiance of a Rashemi ignorant of their place. Gods! Who wished to be confronted with such obnoxious reminders? And all this trouble, to set them _free?_

The man stepped closer to the bars, and the light falling across him revealed extensive scarring across his muscled frame. Clearly this one did not know to stay down. "I beg of you," he said, voice gruff. "Please free us! I have never begged before, and yet I do it now."

"You don't have to beg," came a quiet voice behind him.

So the slave had not been wasting his breath and had in fact been appealing to Sajantha. Not such an idiot, perhaps, though she surely was: 'twas clear where this would lead. Could she truly not see how this would end? How it would not? "Do you intend to overthrow the entire slave trade during your stay?" If the barbarian were here, he would doubtlessly loose some insipid battle cry underscoring the absurdity of the prospect.

Sajantha turned to him. "Thank you." Eyes alight, her fingers encircled his arm and her smile lit her eyes.

His ebbing irritation returned in a wave. "Do not dare presume…"

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder and took a breath as if to steady herself. "I'm not going to beg." Her head tilted back, allowing her gaze to meet his. "But I'd like for you to come with me."

"You and I against an entire underground slave ring? It must be my skills you hold in such high regard, for your own will be of little use."

She drew back, drew herself up, as if unaware it only accentuated just how unintimidating was her minuscule size. "Are you saying you can't handle a handful of slavers? Think it might be too much for you?"

"For me? Better ask, for _what?_ For the endless pursuit of justice, applying your philosophy to the farthest corners of the Faerûn? I am no Harper, to expend myself over troublesome ideals. For the sake of idiocy?"

"For me." But as soon as the words left her mouth she looked surprised, as if she'd not meant to suggest it.

"For you," he repeated, and color slowly stained her cheeks. Did she at last realize how ridiculous this sounded? "You do understand this isn't your problem, do you not?"

"I have to help them–!"

He took hold of her shoulder. "No, you do not. Slavery is not an institution that will be ended by the destruction of a single outpost. It runs deeper, through the roots of the Faerûn itself. You think to dig it out? This will not end: not here, not now." Surely even her peculiar brand of madness would not find this a cause worth tackling.

But her conviction did not waver: "I have to try."

"You endanger yourself for nothing; there is no profit in this!" No profit, no sense, and no _point._

Her gaze traveled from his hand on her shoulder to his eyes. "Do you care about them so little," she asked, "or me so much?"

Edwin let out a sharp breath, dropping his hand. "If you would speak of priorities, how much lower on the list does this relegate Imoen?"

"They… they need my help, too. There's so many. I'm the only one, the only one who can…"

And they all accused _him_ of having an overblown sense of importance! So guileless, the sincerity in her gaze was almost enough to make one ill. He took in a breath. "Those deserving must help themselves _._ If you enable them, they _learn_ nothing; they will _be_ nothing."

"They never had a choice! If I don't help them, who will? No one else can stand up for them—no one was even trying to!"

"Where does your responsibility end? You are worse than a Harper, for demanding all fall within your influence." He gave his head a shake. "You will strike no great blow here! Slavery will continue thriving elsewhere; you cut off a single head from a hydra."

"That's still one less. And less people for it to hurt."

"Use yourself up to save them, then, and see who is grateful enough to return the favor. Who will look after your own self?"

Her hand went to her mouth. "Imoen would." She looked away before he could confirm that flicker (doubt? guilt?) in her eyes, her voice grew quieter: "Imoen. She would understand." When she looked back up, she'd found a glare; fire flashed in her gaze. "Why can't _you_ understand? If that was me." She pointed to the cells. "What if that was _me_ trapped in there? Would you be able to walk away, just leave me in there?"

"When the cage is of your own making—what is it you expect me to do?"

" _You've_ never been a cage, have you?" With his frown, she softened her tone: "I'm doing this. I have to." She reached for his hand. "Will you help me?"

Do it _for_ her, she meant. "You rely upon me far too much." This could not be allowed to stand.

She must have taken his sigh for consent, for she squeezed his hand, a fierceness to the smile that filled her face.

* * *

=S=

With his face contorted in a grimace, Hendak had growled the innkeep's name. Then he'd shouted it. _"Lehtinan!"_ His voice had boomed out, and silence thundered after it, a weighted silence that pounded like the pulse in her ears.

It had been over in a moment, in all the time it took the scarred warrior to close in: Roaring, his massive arms had held the innkeep aloft—and then descended—with a loud crack of the man's spine.

Cheers had resounded from the swell of former prisoners, cheers of hatred and frustration and exhaustion too long held in. But also of hope.

"We are free," Hendak had said as he stood over Lehtinan's corpse. "Burn in the Abyss, fiend."

Might it be that easy? Sajantha's lips had pressed together, as if unable to dare the thought slipping past: A single death, and _freedom._ One could almost hope…

But of course it wasn't that simple, not even for the slaves. Those in the Coronet, perhaps, but the ring traveled much deeper—through the sewers, as if Edwin hadn't yet been annoyed enough—to this rickety old ship, grounded somewhere in the slums. Full of slavers, though Edwin had done his work to remedy that, using a few spells to great effect.

The last maelstrom of fire had left little in the entry behind; the timbers groaned dangerously, wood coughing and creaking as she stepped after him.

"Raviwr. Check the bodies for anything of value." To her, he said nothing.

"Why would they have those—those things?" In such close quarters, the enormous green creatures grew even more monstrous when their backs hunched just below the ceiling.

"Trolls?" He gave a derisive snort. "You did not seem so alarmed in the arena pit."

"Maybe because I was trying to help someone. I didn't have time to be scared." That was the scary part, having time to think about it (and think and think and think).

They stepped into the next room, and Sajantha took a quick glance around. _No one._ But from the sound of the alert, the ship was far from empty. "They're heading this way." And fast: the footsteps traveled with blunt echoes on the wooden floors, louder and louder—

Edwin murmured a spell. The door beside him flew shut. Spell-locked.

What good would that do? "That won't stop them for long."

He did not look up as he lifted his hand from the door. "It does not need to stop them. It only needs to stop you."

"What?" Sajantha took a step forward, and his head angled up just enough to reveal the firm set of his jaw. "Edwin…?"

He spoke a spell beneath his breath. And he was gone.

She stared at the spot he'd been, this bare space before her, as empty as the sinking hole in her chest.

A slam against the door sent it rattling—sent her flinching—he'd not locked them out; he'd locked her in.

 _Why?_ Too large, too deep a question, it gutted her out, leaving no room to think.

Escape— _escape_ —the urgency climbed within her, but with no windows, nowhere to go—

The door pounded. They were coming.

Dizziness swayed her feet. _(He was coming, he was on his way.)_

 _(He would…)_

 _(He would…)_

A frightened cry pierced her ears, followed by quick breaths trying to swallow back a sob. Sajantha's fingers dug into the wall, gripped for balance—held on— _not going back there no no no_

Her own mouth was too dry to speak: the cry was not hers.

Huddled beneath the outcrop of a shelf, a little girl stared up at her with tears streaked through the grime across her face. "I don't know what to do." Her hands came up to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry." She gulped in air. "I'm supposed to be quiet—they said I have to be quiet—I'm sorry."

A chill swept down Sajantha's back. "You don't have to listen to them, not ever again."

Was Edwin right, that she still had her magic somehow? That vision, with the stuffed bear—some form of her magic had returned. Perhaps…

 _Don't think about all the other failed attempts. Don't think about anything else._ Just magic, filling her—

She raised her hand. _"Clax ixen—"_

A surge struck through her—as if the ship was afloat and rocking, the ground tilted out from beneath her—stomach churning, she fell over sideways. And threw up. Palms flat against the coarse floorboards, she took in a shaky breath.

"Are you okay?"

Sajantha stood, hanging her head as she blinked black spots from her eyes. "Fine." She wiped her mouth.

No magic. _No magic._ What else?

The sound of pounding gave way to splintering and excited cries; even reinforced doors wouldn't hold up for long.

Some type of storage room, this: behind the scattered crates, shelves lined the walls. Something, there had to be something! She tore open a cupboard, scanning through the contents: bottles there was no way to identify, manacles. There—the upper shelf! Was that…? She reached—had to jump—and her sweeping arm drew back too much; the entirety of the shelf's contents collided with her in a brief barrage, but bruising would be the least among her troubles. A wand rolled out— _yes!_

She shifted her grip on the wand, thumb running over it. _'Zhaan,'_ said the carving on the side, a Draconic symbol: the trigger word. Something. Whatever it did, it was something.

The door burst inward with an explosion of splinters as it at last caved in, its wreckage forcing the slavers to struggle in one-by-one.

She held out the wand. "Get back!" Too much to hope for, but she'd had to try. _"Zhaan!"_

Like a blow, activating it knocked the air from her; she sucked in a breath curled over on her knees, and a pressure in her head filled her ears. But the footsteps of the slavers had quickened, erratic, as they scattered across the room. _Fear._ A wand of fear. Minds so consumed by it, they couldn't even recognize the remains of the door represented freedom; they had nowhere to go but circles.

Clogged, her ears, Sajantha swallowed—tasted copper—and spit out red.

The fear spell would run out in a few minutes. Blood trickled down her nose, a hum trapped in her ears muffling the child's whimpers.

She could cast it once more, maybe even twice. But to what end? Fear could do a lot of things, but it couldn't kill you. Who would come? _'We are all alone.'_

When the spell wore off…

Sajantha pulled herself to her feet.

Not spelled, but the girl shook with fear, too, her wide eyes glassy as she hunched, curled over her legs.

Fear could do a lot of things, but it never did let you die. Sajantha bent over her. "What's your name?"

"M-Mia."

"Mia." Sajantha touched the top of the girl's head, stroking over her short dark hair. "Close your eyes," she whispered.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat rising to fill her ears. Her fingers clenched into the hilt; the weight of the blade in her hands was far too heavy. But it was solid. It was firm.

* * *

 _Crack._

Sajantha whirled to face the door, sword raised.

A figure picked its way through the splintered wood, red cloak gliding over the floor.

A wave of heat swept over her; she clenched her teeth. _Edwin!_ Tall and still and oh-so-calm. Unfazed. Like always, whenever she wasn't.

Warmth returned to her tingling limbs, a shudder squeezed her fist and sent the blade dipping. "You–! Wh—how could you! Were you going to let me _die?_ "

He glanced down at the bodies, shoulders rising in a shrug. "If you had fallen to them? You would deserve to."

 _"Fuck you."_ She breathed out hard through her nose. "Answer me: would you have let me die?"

"You can only fight for others, or when you're backed into a corner. Would you have let them kill you?" He paused. "The child?"

No. _No no no._ "Gods damn you!" Her throat choked. "This was just some kind of test?" (no no no more tests) "What's the _matter_ with you?"

"Life is a test. Your lessons were soft things folded in paper, dry words delivered by old men who lived between the pages of books without ever stepping outside them." He moved forward. "Soft things do not survive out here."

Her step back turned to a skid as she slipped through a puddle. Red on her boot. Red on her sword, on the figure stepping towards her. "Books? You think that's all I ever...?" She shook her head, hand over her mouth. "Irenicus–"

(no more lessons _no no no_ )

"You are so determined to break free from him that you pay no heed to where you are running. If the only times you kill are when you haven't a choice, you must _make_ it your choice!"

"This—this is how you do it? This is how you think to show me?" She touched her chest. "How could you—how could you do that to me?" He'd left her—he'd _left_ her— (alone alone alone)

"What of this do you not understand? You would prefer a lesson of words instead?" Edwin folded his arms. "Here is a story for you, then: an old man watched a butterfly work itself free of its cocoon. This went on for many hours. (Evidently he had little else to concern himself with.) As such self-righteous meddlers do, he thought to help it, cut it free. But what crawled free of the cocoon was a frail thing, a creature that dragged its shriveled wings behind it every day of its short life."

He spread his hands. " 'Tis only the struggle breaking out of its prison which would have strengthened it enough to fly."

Knees weak, Sajantha took a step back to lean against the wall. Tears pricked her eyes; she turned away. "Butterflies?" He told her a tale of _butterflies?_ The absurdity choked in her throat. "They have butterflies in Thay?"

"No," Edwin frowned, "we strike them from the air, of course, lest their beauty compromise the severity of our scowls." He mocked up a convincing one.

"It's not the sort of thing one would think of, is all. Nor the sort of tale I thought to hear from you." Had she ever thought to hear any?

He shrugged. "Tales are silly things. Truth will all the blood dried from it, to be made palatable for delicate children. Shall I tell you truths of my childhood, instead? Such trials as apprentices underwent, how many I saw fall? Perhaps this would be more in-line with your expectations."

She glanced up. "There's one apprentice I'd like to hear of."

Edwin's head turned away. "The details matter not. He survived." He looked back over his shoulder. "Sajantha. Sarevok, Irenicus… whatever else may have happened, you survived them. Do not forget."

She stared down at the floor. A spatter of red had followed her across the planks. "Don't do that to me. Don't ever do anything like that again."

"I believe that is entirely up to you."

She swallowed. "Irenicus—he made me a puppet, in his games." Tears bit her eyes. "I mean it. Don't you _ever_ do that again. Edwin." She waited 'til his gaze met hers. _"Don't you fucking dare."_

He raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to censor my methods to accommodate your weakness? That is not how it works."

She clenched her teeth, heartbeat heavy in her chest. "You try something like that again? You'll regret it. I'll make you regret it, giving me that wand back."

He studied her a long moment, before something very like a smile cleared his face.

"I-I have to be able to count on you," she whispered.

"I am only after results." He tilted his head. "But… hm. You prefer the carrot to the stick? Perhaps I must needs be more creative."

"Do you… do you got some carrots? I'm real hungry." The little girl claimed their attention.

Sajantha bent down. "I didn't bring all my gear with me; I'm sorry. But mayhap we can find you something."

"You tried to cast." Edwin's voice was low, yet he'd moved close enough for her to almost feel it. "Do you not want your magic back?"

Black spots flecked across her vision and her skin crawled as a chill grew in her belly. Sajantha glanced away.

"It will never work until you can admit it to yourself."

"Don't you think it would have worked? If it could have. If I thought I was going to die." But, with the skinners… something had flown free of her. With the dwarf… something dark. She stared down at her hands. "You're sure I still have magic? It's different. It feels different."

"You are not broken: you are still afraid of it. More afraid of yourself than of your enemies."

"Not of _one."_

"We will figure this out before you face him."

Sajantha took in a shaky breath. "Do you promise?"

"I would have it no other way." He gave her a smile, a smile full of a promise she could put no words to, could only swallow at the sudden dryness in her mouth.

"I'm still hungry," a small voice reminded them.

* * *

Her hand was reaching for the doorknob when Edwin stepped in front of it.

"There is no need to check this room."

"But there might be more kids—"

Instead of his arm, his whole self now blocked her. "There is no need for you to see."

Sajantha's mouth went dry. Just what did that mean—what could possibly be so awful in there? She could argue, tell him she'd come close to death before. Seen it, dealt it. But somehow it didn't feel like he was babying her, not with that look upon his face, so strangely sober. Her words had all evaporated in her mouth, so she just gave him a nod and fell into step at his side as they continued to explore, fighting the urge to lean against him.

There came a thud and a muffled "Shh!" and Sajantha hurried—there, behind that narrow door!—before Edwin could warn her away, and swung it open. Staring up from beneath a closet shelf, two children blinked at the sudden light. Their undernourished state and the bruised circles beneath their eyes made it impossible to guess at their years—not that she'd have much of an idea, anyway—but something in their expressions looked unspeakably aged.

"You found us," the girl said, her voice flat, defeated. Matted blond hair hung limp in her face.

Sajantha crouched down so she wouldn't make a dreadfully looming back-lit figure. "It's alright," she told them in a soft voice. "We're not going to hurt you."

Distrust or simple disbelief kept them frozen; they didn't move 'til they saw Mia behind her and then there were sobs and gasps as they jostled for hugs, clinging to each other with thin scabbed arms and desperation.

Sajantha glanced back at Edwin only then, and though he was frowning, 'twas impossible to tell just what was going through his mind.

The blond girl took a hesitant step forward. "I'm—I'm Yassa. This here's Wil." She gestured at the boy, who hadn't moved from the closet. "He don't talk. Not since… Well. Can you help me up?" She made a show of leaning against Mia, hopping a bit. "My foot fell asleep."

"How many of you are there?"

"There was… there was more, a few days back. Haven't seen 'em all since then." Yassa shook her head. "You… you're… are you rescuing us for real?" Her eyes filled with tears.

"I tol' you," Mia said, "I _tol'_ you! I kept saying it, someone'd find us. Lathander's blessing was on us."

"Your Lathander didn't save Hollin, did he? Whyn't you tell that to Wil, how blessed he is for her getting fed to the trolls 'stead of him?"

The boy—Wil—curled up tighter.

Sajantha knelt down beside him. "It's hard," she whispered. "It's so hard. But it's not your fault. Wil, right? Maybe you can help me. I need someone to be lookout."

A green eye peeked out, blinking beneath a curled lock of dark hair.

"Why're you picking him? I told you, he don't say nothing—"

Sajantha ignored the young girl, didn't take her eyes from Wil. "You could hold this for me." She held out the wand. "Okay? Protect everyone. It would help us an awful lot. Do you think you could do that?"

He stared at her a long moment, then nodded, pushing up to his feet.

"Is that everyone?" So small, this group. And there had been others? Sajantha bit down hard on her lip.

"What about the freckled kid? The one what was sick."

"He kept giving me his rations. Couldn't keep 'em down."

That did not sound very promising. Sajantha braced herself as she followed them around the corner.

"He's got a fever or something," the girl said. "They kept him away from the rest of us."

They found the child in a cell nearby, curled in a heap of straw. Bruised skin showed through his tattered clothes: he'd be in little shape to walk even were he not ill.

"Edwin. Can you help carry him?"

Edwin remained standing on the far side of the hall, away from the cells; he examined his nails as if they were of infinite more interest than all else around him. "I will not allow some sticky, lice-ridden urchin to paw at me. He remains in possession of motor faculties, does he not?"

Did he, though? Sajantha let go of Mia's hand to kneel down. "I think I can do it." All bones, the boy wasn't so very large, though the dark eyes that blinked up at her surely were. "What's your name?"

"Avery," he croaked.

"Here." She reached out, and he raised his arms, nestling into her chest as she lifted him.

Edwin's arms folded. "Just where do you intend to carry him?"

"The Coronet." She shifted the child onto her hip. Heavier than he looked, though she'd not let him slip. Four years old, maybe? Definitely the youngest, though Yassa—the tallest—couldn't be more than a few years older. "Hendak might know their family."

"Family's back in Scornubel," a sleepy voice murmured against her shoulder. "Can we go home?"

She met Edwin's eyes. "I… I don't know."

"Yeah," Yassa said. "It's so far away."

"We'll see you somewhere safe, though."

"Safety is something you carry with you," Edwin said, "not somewhere you escape to." He turned around, cloak sweeping behind him, and muttered a spell, clearing the half-demolished doorway of debris so they didn't have to climb out.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, thank you, mister." Mia gave him a gap-toothed smile.

"Why do you dress so funny?" Yassa asked. There was a bounce to her step as she hurried to keep up with Edwin's strides.

"He's a _mage,_ duh," the other girl answered.

"Oh. Like Elminster?"

Edwin coughed. "Elminster is nothing like me, you unlearned child!"

"I dunno… Elminster is always saving people, too, isn't he?"

Edwin's lips disappeared into a flat line.

Without any hand to hold in her laugh, a giggle slipped free of Sajantha.

"Hmph." Edwin's gaze flicked back to her. " _This_ is what it takes to get you to laugh? My discomfort?"

"You look terribly disconcerted."

"Disgruntled."

"It's not as if anyone will see you," she reminded him. "It's just us."

Their small party trudged back through the sewers, Edwin's mage-light bobbing above, wet echoes rising around them.

Wil walked to the other side of him with the wand outstretched.

"If you're a mage," Yassa said, "whyn't you summon up a carriage to carry us? With horses made of clouds? I heard Elminster can do that."

"(Such ignorance boggles the mind!) When I was your age–" Edwin broke off.

Sajantha bumped her shoulder against him. "You were the most impressive caster, of course, miles ahead of all the other students?"

He didn't look amused. "You would not be smiling if you knew what that entailed."

"You could tell me."

His gaze traveled to her shoulder, to the small head resting upon it. "I have no stories fit for the ears of children."

"I liked the butterfly one!" said Mia.

" _You_ were a child," Sajantha reminded him quietly.

He gave a shrug, a bit fidgety, like his clothes itched. "A very long time ago."

"How long ago? Exactly."

And his posture softened the tiniest bit—his face, too—as he almost-smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Still trying to learn all my secrets, I see."

"Only the little ones."

Edwin halted.

"Oh!" A boy's voice. Wil—gesturing with the wand—

Guttural noises and shouts rose above the children's frightened cries, an arrow flew by—

 _"Ehis erekess krakawnoth troth zahae."_ As Edwin finished speaking, a shimmer grew to engulf them, leaving time enough to see the shadowed figures filling the tunnel, the flying arrows, and he was already raising his hands for another spell as the magic settled, blocking the battle from sight with a solid sphere. The air hummed with the energy of the spell, the only sound—the only light—leaving no way to tell what went on outside.

The children stared up at her, violet light filling their eyes. "Wh-what's going on?" Packed in so tightly, they'd no choice but to huddle together.

"It's alright. Don't be scared." There'd be nothing out there that Edwin could not handle. But he'd not been allowed the first strike—had sacrificed it for them.

She set down Avery. Reached for her sword.

A series of lights flashed through the barrier, then… nothing.

"Is he—is he okay?" The boy's eyes were wide.

"Aye. So long as the barrier is up, he's—"

The barrier went down.

A solid figure materialized, cut out of the smoke; 'twas too dim to see the color of his clothing, but the angular lines of that hooded silhouette were far too familiar to ever mistake for another.

No sign of a battle, but for the scorched walls around him. No sign of his opponents.

"Hobgoblins," was all he said.

"Did you kill 'em?" Yassa asked.

Edwin paused, then gave a nod.

"The slavers? Did you kill all them, too?"

His gaze rested on Sajantha while she sheathed her weapon. "We did."

"Good." Yassa bobbed her head. "Good."

"Avery." At the sound of his name, the child turned towards her, and Sajantha hefted him. 'Twas harder, this time, to straighten—surely he'd gained weight!—her knees knocked together before she could brace them.

Edwin glanced at the child, then back down the hall. "I require my hands free."

"I understand." She wouldn't mention the sweat on his face, the lean in his posture, that said he must be even more exhausted than she; she simply stepped up beside him, just close enough for their arms to brush. "Thank you. For everything. I don't want you to think I take you—all you've done—for granted."

He turned back down the tunnel, steps clipped: far slower a pace than normal. For himself? Or… for her? "You rely upon me far too much, as I said."

And then he'd tried to prove she didn't need him. "Is it such a burden to bear, the thought of someone trusting you?"

His eyes narrowed. "I am not some packhorse for you to lay your troubles upon! I will not accept the burden of your safety when you could carry it yourself."

"You… really think I could?"

"If you set down the other burdens you drag after you. (She requires a literal example here?)" Edwin's gaze paused over the children. "Stop insisting upon gathering more troubles up where'er you go. No one has the strength to lift the world."

They climbed the slope back out of the sewers' moist air to the warm lights of the Coronet's back rooms; for once the lived-in smells were rather welcome.

Sajantha let out a long sigh. "We made it."

Wil held the wand out. "I… I let you down."

"I think you and Edwin both spotted them at the same time. You didn't do anything wrong!" They should have been paying more attention, anyway.

"Hollin. I—I let her down, too." He stared hard at the ground, lip trembling. "She was my sister."

 _'Was.'_ Something ached in Sajantha's chest. She knelt down beside him. "My… something happened to my sister, too."

"I didn't save her." He shook his head, blinking wet eyes. "I didn't even try and stop them. I was supposed to protect her, and I… I… couldn't even watch." Hand scrubbed over his face, he looked away.

"You couldn't have done anything. Alright?" She stroked his hair back. "They would have just killed you, too."

"B-but if they had… instead… maybe she'd still be alive."

 _Maybe maybe maybe:_ those could tear one into two.

"Your sister is gone," Edwin said. "Hypothetical naval-gazing serves no one; no more can be done for her. But there exist others who could use your protection, if you suffer from this 'noble' affliction to give it: there are nearly infinite ways to make yourself useful; do not trip up on the one which you cannot have."

"Yassa and Mia and Avery," Sajantha suggested. "They need someone to look after them, too; there's still those who need your help. You can be strong for them."

"I… I guess. Yeah." He nodded, though he sounded too tired to truly believe it. "Thanks." That one was more sincere; he looked between them, his eyes lightening the littlest bit. "You, too."

Sajantha glanced up at Edwin as she rose. "That's very insightful of you."

"You sound surprised." Edwin shrugged. "One must not watch you very long to see the truth of it in action."

True. It was true, wasn't it? She tucked the wand back into her belt. "It makes me feel better. Helping people."

"I can see that."

"How does it make you feel?"

Edwin looked away for a long moment, then gave his head a shake. "Tired."

"Mayhap I could interest you in a tankard? If you're too tired to work at your Scroll, I mean. I think I could use a drink."

"This would sound infinitely more appetizing did I not know exactly what swill they serve here."

She raised her eyebrows. "You know what they _serve,_ maybe, but that can't be all they have. And we've an 'in' with the man in charge now; I do suspect he'll allow us our choice of Lehtinan's secret selection. The back rooms can't be all that man was hiding."

"Ah." Edwin perked up a bit. "Very clever. When you put it this way…"

* * *

=E=

Aside from the cut above her brow which looked to bruise, Sajantha had sustained no serious injuries (fortunate, as she'd no doubt used up any spare potions on the slaves).

The ruby-colored glass before him was nearly empty, and the bottle stood within tempting reach. But he'd imbibed just enough of the spiced wine for it to have warmed his stomach, loosened his limbs, and the softness had not yet reached his mind. He could not risk anything more, not even to muffle this headache that was promising to leave tomorrow a misery. A _magic_ hangover would be concern enough on its own.

Sajantha's own glass was still half-full, but she'd drank enough to lend a flush to her face and a sparkle to her eyes.

The loud slave they'd released had taken up Lehtinan's role as if it were commonplace (the legalities would not be questioned in these parts, at any rate) for one to gain the mantle of ownership after slaying the previous owner. At least he had not protested overmuch when Edwin demanded the four-thousand gold due them. No doubt he had already sniffed out piles far larger.

The bottle of Tethyrian tanagluth he'd dredged up was a quality vintage, at least, though there was small chance such fare would ever enter into the bartender's regular rotation. Pity.

"So little order to this place." With the slave-master departed, the establishment would sink into disrepair that much more swiftly.

Sajantha scooted her chair a bit closer to his. "What? Sorry." A lock of hair—still damp from her bath—draped across her face as she glanced behind them (though they sat as near a wall as they were able). "It's so loud here."

"Have I not said we should seek out more suitable accommodations?" Being the cheapest inn in the city did not constitute a recommendation so much as an admonition. "Is there somewhere else you'd prefer to go?"

"I don't know. Perhaps not." She let out a sigh, shaking her head. "This whole _city_ …"

"Miss your library, do you?"

"They'd not have me back." Her shoulders came up, and she abandoned her attempt at a smile as she looked away. "It doesn't matter. You're right. It's not as if I've somewhere else to go." Her lips pressed together. "I thought maybe it'd be different, though. With the slavers gone." She took a sip. "Oughtn't it feel lighter, you think?

"Why? It is the same crowd of dullards and dimwits, drunken and dirty as ever." Disgusting. "Remind me why we are staying here again?"

"Hendak said we could, for free."

Had she not listened that closely? Edwin smiled, shaking his head. "He said we could have a _room._ "

"Aye. For free."

He raised his eyebrows. " _One_ room."

"Oh. _Oh_." Sajantha straightened. "He thought… he thought we…?" She shifted in her seat, lifting a hand to the back of her neck.

"Have you come down with an affliction of fleas, to so squirm? I tell you, this place is vile. (Truthfully, I had wondered why the lot of you did not squeeze yourselves into a single room from the start, so closely do you clutch your coppers.)" He tilted his head. "You are blushing!"

And so did her blush deepen even as she worked to glare at him.

"How _precious_. Even the simplest of insinuations is enough to set you so off-balance?" And only growing more so as he grinned. "Who would have thought the young woman insisting on staying in a den of iniquity such as this—a slayer of slavers and Bhaalspawn!—should prove such a prude?"

"I don't see how that could possibly be related." Her voice was every bit as stiff as her suddenly perfect posture. "Nor why you should call me thus. As I'm not."

"No?" He leaned back, rubbing his beard. _Hm._ A series of odd reactions on her part could very well be explained by something along these lines…

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it." She shook her head, but she was losing the battle to hold back her laugh. "Stop _thinking_ at me. Whatever you're–"

"You grew up in the shelter of a library, did you not? Surrounded by old scholars and scrolls. Tell me," he shifted towards her, and she went still, all of her frozen except for eyes growing larger as he leaned closer, "have you ever–"

"Sajantha!"

* * *

=S=

"Oh! Anomen!" Pulling her legs back beneath her chair, Sajantha sat up, her heart pounding even faster as she struggled not to look at Edwin, though the both of them could surely see how fiercely her face burned.

But Edwin's smirk—indeed, all his humor—had vanished to make room for the glower grooved upon his face. "Do we look as though we desire to be disturbed, cretin? Your manners are as underdeveloped as your brains. Perhaps if you had elected to exercise your mind half so much as the rest of you, you might be able to tell when you are not wanted."

Anomen's jaw clenched. "I did not address you, wizard." And he turned to Sajantha, "My lady. Your face—" And that only set it burning hotter, but he reached towards—ah. The bruise. "I was told… well… I wished to look in on you." His eyes narrowed in on Edwin for half a moment before returning to her. "Might I speak with you privately?"

"The hour is late, as long (and wearying) as your jawing." Edwin leaned back, arm raised over the back of his chair. "There is nothing you cannot speak in front of me. If it is a matter of a personal nature, let me assure you she has no more interest than I in plumbing the depths of your undoubtedly shallow thoughts; I shall save you the time."

"Edwin!" He'd surely heard her, but he didn't take his eyes from Anomen. "Who'd wish to speak before you, risking that kind of assault? You needn't make everything into a battle."

"A battle he fears to meet, it seems. Run away, then, and preserve your safety, if not your dignity."

"I've had long practice suffering the venom of poisoned tongues; I fear neither you nor your words." Anomen held himself with the same strained control that modulated his voice. "My own words are for the lady's ears alone."

"Does honor strangle the courage from you as it strangles your voice? How stiffly it sits upon you! Is it a badge you paint upon your breast, I wonder, or a shield you cower behind?"

"That's enough!" Did they even heard her? Their eyes remained locked on each other. "There's no call for this, really."

"You question _my_ honor? What manner of man would allow a woman to remain in a cesspool such as this! Honor is not a language your kind can even _speak._ "

Honestly! "He's not 'allowing' me–"

"You know nothing of either of us." Edwin's voice rose over hers. "Relieve yourself of whatever assuredly brainless statement which impelled you here, and begone."

"That's _enough_." Sajantha pushed up to her feet to stand between them. "Stop talking as if I'm not even here! What's the matter with you two?" Fatigue caught up with her, the dizziness as she reached her feet nearly tumbling her back into her seat; she locked her knees, holding her head. "I—I can't handle this right now. Anomen, if you wish to speak, tomorrow might be better."

"As you wish. I did not intend to cause you distress, my lady."

" 'Twas not you who did so. I wish I could apologize for him."

"Pfeh." Edwin waved a dismissive hand as he leaned back in his chair. "(The lot of all who strive so hard to prove themselves.)"

"What the Hells were _you_ trying to prove there?"

Edwin's casual posture tensed slightly, just enough that one might suspect he was purposely trying to hold it.

"I'm going to sleep." Blood and black spots flecked her vision, the warmth from the wine sitting heavy in her belly.

Hopefully. Hopefully she could sleep.

"I will walk you to your room." But Anomen wasn't even looking at her as he spoke, just glaring at Edwin. Gods! Why couldn't the two of them even _try_ to get along? It was worse than Edwin and Jaheira's little snips!

Anomen turned towards her as they climbed the stairs. "You came by the Order to see me. Is everything alright?"

"Oh, that—no. It's nothing. All sorted now." Embarrassing, really, how thin the glue that held her together, how quickly the pieces fell apart. "How was the expedition?"

Anomen shrugged it off. " 'Twas a small force, routed easily. Now, the hill giants! There was a campaign I should be proud to regale!" With his face alight, the tension left his brow, smoothing years from him.

"How old are you, Anomen?"

"I shall be twenty-two upon Flamerule." His voice came out quite formally—had she offended him? He was so sensitive about that, wasn't he, but did he fear she thought him older or younger?

"Let's see… so, the sign of the Wheel, right? A diamond birthstone: for protection, courage, and strength. You're serious," she mock-frowned up at him, "with strong willpower, purposeful actions. But have a tendency to worry."

He chuckled. "Did you wish to be an astrologer, as well?"

"Maybe I just made it up. Or maybe I could tell all that without it."

"You are correct, either way." He let out a sigh. "I do have a tendency toward worry, I fear. Though I do not believe I am alone in this. You…" He tilted his head towards her. "You seem so youthful and exuberant at times, and others so drawn and weary as if with the weight of years. It is difficult for me to determine your age."

"Oh?" Was that his way of inquiring after it? "I should think it rather easy."

"Well, with the… your…" He gestured at his ears, face reddening. "I simply…"

"No, it's easy: you _ask me._ It's no secret." Not like _some_ people's. "I'm twenty-two now. At least 'til Kythorn."

His shoulders relaxed—no doubt he'd feared that elven blood had left her far older. "Indeed? The Time of Flowers is nearly upon us! You will have to let me know the exact date so that we might celebrate."

"It's just a day, like any other." The date had passed in the wilds unremarked last year. But for a gift of armor from Imoen. "There's little to celebrate, in any case."

"A birthday is reason enough. Though we will have to find something more entertaining than a theater troupe lacking its lead actor this time."

"Mm." The sound emerged somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

"Ah, a smile from you. It gladdens me to see it."

"Sorry I interrupted you. Tell me of these hill giants, if you would? They're over ten feet tall, aren't they? It sounds most impressive!"

"We can speak of it later. The wizard was right about one thing: it is rather late. I would not keep you from rest." He reached out.

What was he—? "Oh!" His hand—wreathed in armor—bumped against her.

"I—I apologize." He'd withdrawn his hands. "I am clumsy with all but my blade wearing these, it seems."

His gauntlets. Why would he still… "You… you only just got back, didn't you?" Still in his armor, how had she missed it? Dirty and stained, his face worn from travel.

"I came as soon as I'd heard you'd been by; I was unsure if aught was amiss. Keldorn's resignation was all the news."

"That's—that's so sweet of you." She shook her head. "Still hauling about forty pounds of armor, after hiking all day? You must be exhausted!"

"Helm's own armor represented the weight of responsibility; 'tis an honor to bear it. It is no strain, my lady."

"How couldn't it be! There's no shame in admitting so."

"Then you should admit your own fatigue; this is the second time you've yawned."

"Tomorrow, then. But get some rest—please." Sajantha glanced back after opening her door. "And… thank you for checking in on me." He'd thought of her… been worried enough to come looking, first-thing. A reassuring warmth filled out from the inside; she smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"Of course, my lady."


	29. Creative

**[Author's Note]:** _Long time, sorry! -_-; I haven't been doing very well this year but hopefully I can keep this story still going - thanks to everyone sticking with it, btw! :)_

 _"You prefer the carrot to the stick? Perhaps I must needs be more creative."_ -Edwin, Chapter 28: "Rescue"

* * *

=S=

Sajantha stepped out of her room. As if giving lie to the revolt the night before, the inn—the upstairs, at least—looked the same without the slavers, without those guards in every corner; it even smelled of the same perfumes and oils, even with their owners gone.

Well—not quite gone: Lacey appeared, beaming brighter than ever.

"Hendak gave the ol' Madam the boot. He'll run this place right, he will." Lacey pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, Sajantha. You—you don't know what it means, knowing I've got the key to my own door again."

"I'm so sorry I didn't realize sooner—"

"Gods, girl! Don't be like that; you took care of it the very moment you found out."

If only she'd been fast enough to save Zaviera. Sajantha squeezed shut her eyes.

Lacey pulled back, and her smile faltered a bit on her face. "I… Well. I'd better go." She was gone down the hall with an abruptness that left Sajantha scanning the area. Had something scared her off…?

Raviwr landed on the bench, his tall shadow not far behind.

"As I do not fancy picking flies from my food," Edwin cast a sneer about them, "I will be dining elsewhere. You may join me if you wish, or remain here, waif-like and gaunt, hurrying your inevitable expiration."

"This place hasn't grown on you yet?" And last night he'd been so close to loosening up, too. "I'm fine here."

He looked unconvinced. "You would allow yourself to waste away in pursuit of saving a handful of coppers? Consider it a gift of the slavers."

The slavers had indeed been generous—at least in death—she'd managed to gather a respectable amount of gold from the boat, though they'd left behind the larger items for Hendak to sell off. Medicine, transportation, and guardians for the children would cost a hefty sum, if they could arrange such a thing; Hendak assured her they would try.

She nearly protested—for Anomen would be coming by—but not 'til after mornfeast, surely; he'd need the rest.

Edwin held out his hand. "Come." But he made no move to move.

"Teleport? We could walk like normal people, you know."

"We are not. Why should we pretend otherwise?"

"I think it might be fun, to pretend to be someone else for a time. Don't you? If we didn't have to be worried about…" she gestured, "everything." _No._ He'd never wish to be anyone besides himself, would he? She glanced down. "I don't know."

"You are the only one who insists upon worrying about 'everything'. No doubt closeting yourself in this dank rat-hole of an inn does nothing to lighten your perspective. The slaves are freed, the filth is gone (figuratively, at least), but let us leave before the woes of the spiders in the ceiling demand your attention." He did not wait for her response, stepping forward to take hold of her elbow, and she was surprised enough to let him.

* * *

=E=

The Mithrest Inn was already filled with patrons even so early in the day, though this class of crowd—exclusively nobility—knew to keep an appropriately hushed volume of conversation, making little noise but for the delicate clinks of porcelain and glass; the atmosphere was calm and quiet. And most _welcome._

The table up against the wall afforded him an excellent view of the door and the platform beside it.

"The black truffle omelet with tenderloin medallions wrapped in shallots and smoked pork," Edwin directed. "For the lady, as well."

The waitress raised an eyebrow.

"Did my words get lost inside your sluggish skull? Perhaps if there was something between your ears to catch it, I'd not need to repeat myself."

"They can see I'm not a lady." Sajantha's fingers kept playing with the clasp of her cloak. "You don't have to stand up for me. And you don't have to order for me either; do you suppose I'm illiterate?"

"I propose you do not know how much you want something until you try it." With the class of places she'd frequented, she could not be familiar with any of this (comparatively) cultured cuisine. But one more thing that would be most welcome to return home to.

"What if I don't like beef? I've never had it. The cattle at Candlekeep were all for dairy."

"Ah. One more indulgence you've not yet had the pleasure of experiencing?" The slight blush on her face made it likely his innuendo had hit home. "You will enjoy it; I assure you. You should not protest so much."

"No? How does that work? First you tell me to take charge and stand up for myself, then speak over me as if I'm a simple-minded child. Or is this just more, 'Edwin knows everything about everything, even when it comes to other people's wishes?' "

"I _do_ know better than you. You are not simple, but nor are you especially good at taking care of yourself. You should really indulge yourself more often, Sajantha."

The blush on her cheeks did much to improve her pale complexion. "You can't just _presume_ like that. What do you know about what sort of things I'd like?"

"I know a great deal about you, my dear. More than I think most."

"Then why bring me to a place like this? I don't belong here."

Behind her, a woman climbed onto the platform and took a seat beside her instrument. The first notes trickled through the room as the harpist began playing.

Sajantha's eyes widened.

 _Magic._ She'd not be rushed, but this last experiment on the slave-ship had been entirely inconclusive. "Have you given any thought to playing the harp again?"

She looked away, voice soft, "It's silly."

"No more or less than it ever was. This is what stops you?" A consolation, she'd called harping, yet her music had never provoked the ambivalence which plagued her wild magic.

"Don't you know how expensive harps are? No. Maybe you don't. But they are. Quite."

"Expensive? Truly." Could it be so easily remedied?

"I'm trying to raise money, if you've not forgotten?" Ah, yes, this at least was the one delay which served him. "I'm not going backward on it unless I must." Nothing shy about her reddened face now; the color on her cheeks may well have been painted from anger. She ducked her head. "I don't know why you wanted to come here."

"The money is not important. Raising your ability is."

 _"Imoen's_ what's important. Getting to her."

"And what will you do upon arriving? You'd best think these plans through, else they're only more impulsive blundering into trouble."

Her finger traced around the lip of her cup. "Anomen gave me a harp, actually."

"What!" The fool knew not the first thing about her. Just what had she revealed to him? "It is conspicuously absent."

She shrugged. "It's an enchanted one, and I… well." Her gaze had grown dark.

"How did that trifling peasant trash afford one, if they are so costly as you say?"

"He found it in the mage's lair, in the sewers. But Anomen's a nobleman. Didn't you know?" She glanced around, tugging at her cloak. "I'm the one who's peasant trash, if anyone is."

'Nobleman', pfeh—as if his bloodlines extended beyond a handful of centuries! "Well?"

"I don't know. What if my magic's not… what if it's gone? I should just sell it."

"Your magic is not gone!" Why must she be so stubborn? "What you should do is stop indulging your fears and play it!"

She drew back, hands dropping beneath the table.

He let out a breath, evening his tone. "It is important that you reclaim your abilities."

"Oh?" Her eyebrows raised. "Important to whom?"

 _Careful._ The waitress arrived with the food, a momentary respite as attention turned to plates. "I do not like such mysteries to remain unresolved, you are correct. But was magic not once important to you?"

It had been so, once. ' _Magic is everything,'_ the girl upon the docks of Baldur's Gate had said, beaming up at him, wild curls framing her sunny face.

This pale, wan woman staring back at him had eyes far older and darker.

"No." Closing down, she looked away, rubbing her forehead. "I don't want to think about it." As if this living in denial might accomplish anything! Her gaze rose to his. Such a contrast to that bright-eyed girl, however soft her stare remained. "Are you going to yell at me?"

Edwin bit his tongue, taking a bite of food, instead. If only it were half so simply solved. Gods! If Irenicus had never factored into this… Great satisfaction would be found in his destruction for so derailing Edwin's own task. And for forcing him onto this timeline to solve it. "You are not the one at fault."

"Is Anomen?" She peeked up from her fork. "You looked awfully cross when I mentioned him."

 _The meddlesome twit._ Edwin bit off a sharp bite. "Hmph." Why did Sajantha seem so determined to invite the lout along? Did the dreary dutifulness of paladins so entertain her, or was she merely manipulating him for his aid? Surely she'd not befriended him solely to be a bother for Edwin, however it felt.

"You hardly know him! The two of you have quite a bit in common."

On what backwards plane might this be the case? "He does not in any way compare to me."

"Perhaps you're right. He's a good deal more polite. Considerate." But, she—at least her eyes—was smiling as she took a bite.

"You weight these traits with far too much worth." Had she no idea how much of that posturing knight was an act?

"They can go a lot further than you think." A light touch on his arm. "Thank you for mornfest."

"Thank the slavers."

Her hand fell.

Not more of this! "Do not tell me you regret their deaths." After dragging him along—!

"Of course not! But the children—the other slaves? They're still out there. And everyone here, just walking around like they don't know it's going on." Her hands tightened on her fork. "Look at these people. It happens under their very noses. Why doesn't anyone care? Why do I have to be the only one who even _sees_ it…"

"Perhaps everyone else is more interested in preserving their sanity than despairing over all which they cannot change."

She let out a sigh, fork dropping to her plate. "I don't know why I'm like this. It's not as though I can help it."

No, she could not be so masochistic as that. "Try channeling it into something productive."

"Like what?"

"Slavers are not the only ones whose disposition death would improve."

"I'm not—!" She grimaced, lowering her voice, "I'm not going to go around looking for people who need to be killed."

"If you are looking for people who need to be saved, you may well find them in close quarters." Edwin leaned forward. "How did you sleep last night?"

"I…" Her shoulders shrugged, loose. "I slept." And she surely understood his pointed look, but dropped her gaze, and shook her head. "It's too—too much." She pushed her plate forward. "I can't finish it." Finish? She'd barely begun! "It was good—it was!—I just… I'm sorry." She looked up and gestured at the waitress. "Have you a container or something?"

The serving wench's gaze flicked to Edwin's, disbelief arching her brow.

"To keep what's left over," Sajantha explained politely, as if the woman's refusal was ignorance and not thinly-veiled disdain.

Edwin sighed to himself. "I suggest you go look." He raised his voice after her. "And I suggest you find one." Uppity serving-women mistaking their place, simply because of their employer's wealth. _Pfeh._ It mattered not whom one worked for, drones would always be drones. (He would not answer to anyone again.)

This time, Sajantha appeared amused by his tone.

"Oh, so you do not mind 'disrespect' when it works in your favor?"

"Not just _my_ favor—there's any number of people for whom a full belly would fix their problems. It shouldn't be too hard to find someone in need." She shook her head. "But I suppose that's not so very proper, is it?" She dropped her hand, fingers pressing against his arm. "Thanks, though."

"Such insubordinations by the lesser class cannot be tolerated."

Did she just roll her eyes? "Don't be like that. You were sticking up for me, not reprimanding the waiting staff."

"I was… both." True enough, and it seemed to lighten her face. 'Til she looked down at the price on the table.

"Gods, Edwin—why did we come here? We haven't the coin to be spending it like this!"

" 'We'? This is mine own coin; it has no bearing upon your stockpile."

She stood up. "This meal cost gold—not silver. How much coin do you have? Exactly." The quiet tones of the harp wafted behind her, a contrast to her intense face.

"You wish to make some manner of deal?"

"If you had a lot of coin… Edwin. You'd tell me, wouldn't you? I… I'd pay you back, you know…?"

This would not do. Edwin rose. "I will purchase a harp for you."

Her chin lifted. "And I'll sell it."

"You do not want to play?"

"I want Imoen. I want _her_. That's all. That's all I can want. Not expensive meals nor fancy clothes nor silly harps—not when they're taking her farther from me. Do you understand that?"

"Her distance does not change whether I give you a harp or not."

"Give me the gold, and it will. Please. _Please."_

Gods! Surely he could not be the only one driven unto madness by her stubbornness. Time to change tacks. "How much free coin do you imagine I have? I am no longer under the employ of the Guild, and it costs a great deal of money to keep the Cowled Wizards bribed." While the wardstone he'd gained kept him out from beneath their eye, she did not need to know this.

"Stop eating at stuck-up places like this for a tenday, and see how much you save. I'll pay you back whatever amount it is—I _swear it_. But I need your help to get there." She took hold of his hands. "Please."

"Here's your food, sir."

"Thank you," said Sajantha, not looking away. Nor letting go.

He brushed her off him, taking the proffered container. No—what did he want with this? Stupid woman!—he thrust it at Sajantha. "Find some starving beggar to bequeath it unto so that we may attend to matters of actual importance."

She smiled, hugging it to her chest. "That was the plan."

* * *

=E=

The half-eaten—quarter-eaten?—fillets had found a new home in some fortunate beggar's belly (at least Sajantha hadn't dragged him on a search through the slums any longer than necessary) and Edwin's own stomach roiled a bit as he climbed the Coronet's stairs. With that cloying incense, the air of the upstairs hall wasn't any clearer than the pipeweed clouds downstairs; every breath burned his nose, accompanying his headache. He rubbed at his forehead. Magical hangovers were damnably dissimilar to alcoholic ones. Though avoiding the latter was much easier than the former.

Edwin's steps slowed as they neared their rooms. Just what to do? Their coin-gathering dilemma was now his own, when it had been all which served his Scroll's slow pacing. She would grow suspicious if he did not contribute; Edwin could not refuse without compromising as much as he would lose if they arrived at Irenicus before he was ready. Who would have thought Sajantha's regard rested on so fragile a thing?

"Tell her," his familiar's voice tickled at his ear with a whisper. "Tell her what Ercias say!"

Ercias—gods, that conversation had been so long ago! Just what had the ruffian even said? About Ama, about the guild deaths, about…

But, ah—about that mage, perhaps? ' _Bit off more than they could chew,'_ he'd revealed.

Edwin cleared his throat. "I have spoken with those bearing inside knowledge… It sounds as if the Cowled Fools are quite concerned about the mage in their custody." Ah, perhaps Raviwr considered this an opportune moment to make inquiries. "Do you—"

Yet all the lightness had left Sajantha's face as quickly as a candle blowing out; she froze in place, wavered, then sat down on the nearby bench.

What—what was this? Edwin sent Raviwr a glower as the imp floated after her. To have so ruined her mood, bah!

"He's still in custody," she breathed. "He's _still_ _in custody."_

"So it is said." Why did…

With a brilliant smile shining through her tears, she crushed Raviwr to her chest. The imp for some reason looked pleased at this development; perhaps being so strangled left him too addled to protest.

"You are making a scene. Why is this so noteworthy?"

"If he's in custody, then he's not hurting Imoen. She's… she's still alright." Sajantha looked up at Edwin then. " _She's alright."_

All this time, she had thought this not the case?

"Maybe this will work. Maybe this will actually work…" And she beamed, bouncing to her feet, before heading to her room.

Hm. And perhaps this would keep her from pestering him about accelerating their progress with money, as well.

Edwin rubbed at his forehead again. Pipeweed bothered his stomach less than incense—and with this small crowd the accompanying smoke-clouds would be smaller as well—he returned downstairs to the common room.

"See, see?" The imp showed off his sharp teeth with a grin. "Raviwr get points!"

"We are not keeping score." Ah, that table with the view of both exits would do nicely. Edwin opened his notebook, and began scratching out his latest findings. A plan could be made of this, certainly.

"Because Raviwr is winning?" The stupid thing gave a chortle. "When Master gets more points, he change his mind." "Keep trying, yes? Master doing better, he is!"

"Your vote of confidence overwhelms me with relief, of course." Edwin shook his head, glancing up from the book whose words had begun to blur together without his full focus. The afternoon crowd in the Coronet was light enough that the new traffic stood out, and clanking metal suits always called attention, even when they did not set one's head to throbbing.

Edwin leaned back in his chair as the young knightling approached. This might prove amusing. "Greetings, _squire_. I see you are unarmed once more for a battling of wits."

Not nearly so intimidated as anyone with half a brain ought be, the Helmite only narrowed his eyes. "You aim to spar with me, spell-fiddler? Would you like to test your words against my steel?"

"I would find that quite to my liking, yes." Edwin smoothed out the pages of his book. "Sajantha, however, is of another mind." A pity, that.

"You say that as though you answer to her. Is she what passes for your shriveled conscience?"

"We have… an arrangement. One that you are not worth compromising. Your luck." If the fool could be goaded into battle, surely it could be called self-defense? Not that she would appreciate the distinction.

"An arrangement." His dark brow knotted. "Just what is she to you? You cannot possibly have her best interests in mind."

So predictable. Edwin sighed, turning back to his book. "You know nothing of my intentions."

"Nor does she, I wager. She is the only one who cannot see what a heartless fiend you are! Had I the proof, I would strike you down before whatever evil you plot takes root."

"A fiend, am I?" 'Twould be a wonder if the boy had ever laid eyes upon one. "I wonder what darkness lies in your own heart, to so color all you see?" Something, yes, he assuredly hid something.

"Evil is as clear upon you as the red painting your robes! How does she not see it? Her innocence does not well-suit her for this life."

"Hn. It seems we agree on something after all. But, Sajantha is not nearly so 'innocent' as you imagine her." He glanced up then: the squire's countenance had darkened. Trying to determine how to interpret his meaning, no doubt. Yes, this would be amusing. Edwin lowered his voice, "You do not know her so well as I, boy. Nor will you ever." Let him read into that what he would.

And so predictably did his face redden. "It is a wonder no one has yet struck the head from your shoulders, you vile-tongued snake."

Edwin gave a shrug. "Many have tried. Join them in the attempt, if you wish, and you may join them in the Hells."

His nostrils flared. "My honor will not allow me to strike you out of anger."

"Honor?" Such a tired conceit. "It is _honor_ which stays your hand? Call it what you will, if you must shield yourself from the truth, but backing off would be the most intelligent thing you could do." Edwin lifted his book. "Do not overstep yourself again."

" 'Overstep myself'? I owe you no deference! I take direction only from my deity, and my duty. And neither will allow me to stand aside and watch you corrupt an innocent."

Edwin took in a sharp breath. "From whence do these idiotic ideas swell your head, you pompous prig!" His book clattered against the table. "Purge your imbecilic beliefs out into the throat of someone gullible enough to swallow them before they choke all the reason from you."

The boy grew a grin. "Does this offend you? Your very presence sullies her."

The speed with which he'd stood sent the squire back a step—sent the nearest tables flinching away—and all of Edwin's control focused on not sending a spell straight through that sneering face, for the words he ground out beneath his breath to be empty of magic: "I will render you unto _nothing_. None will note your absence as you disappear from this plane."

"And who would mourn the passing of a Red Wizard? Your death would be celebrated!"

Edwin's fingers clenched, nails driving sharp into his palms. "Get away from me. Get away from me or I will end you."

"How would Sajantha feel about that? Does your leash stretch so far?"

Burn him unto ash, and the whole of the inn while he was at it—a firestorm raged beneath his skin, flames danced in his eyes, the words burned on his tongue—

Sajantha. He took a deep breath. _Sajantha._ A curious stillness descended over him; Edwin unclenched his hands. The overgrown chimp was right; she'd not forgive him. (Not any more than this disrespect could be overlooked.) It took all his willpower to warn the lout, once more (for her) and not simply grind him into dust. " _You will leave us be._ You do not wish to provoke me."

"And Sajantha does not wish you to attack me. It seems we are at an impasse? Assuming it is not fear which stays your hand. Wizard."

Gods! Such audacity from a measly mewling guttersnipe—the cloistered fool did not deserve to pollute this air with another breath—! Was he aware he owed every moment of his existence henceforth to her?

The instant one could not enforce their threats, one may as well surrender; Edwin would not be made impotent. 'Leashed,' bah! The insignificant lout could not cause him to lose so much face.

"You are not worth the effort 'twould take to scrape you from my shoe." Not worth it. No. Not even as the squire left him with a knowing smirk.

He could not threaten the fool? There were other ways to deal with this. Edwin sat down and raised his hands to his mouth, folding his fingers. A direct approach was preferable, but not always best. Too many witnesses here, besides.

He leaned back into his seat as the Helmite clanked away, and there in the entry waited a trio of familiar faces. Damnation! Such a time for the rest of the group to return. The respite from them could not have been enjoyed forever, but was an extra day too much to ask?

They had paused at the entrance, sharing words with the squire, and the collective glare they sent Edwin's way was not exactly promising. Might they elevate from mere annoyance to an actual disruption? If they should unite against him as one…

He did not need this at all.

* * *

=S=

A swift rapping against her door—oh! Might it be Anomen? 'Twas nearly Highsun, and he'd promised to come by.

Sajantha hurried to the door, then paused before it, pushing her hair back; she's not yet brushed it, and the humidity seemed determined to fluff it out. Well. Nothing to be done for it.

"Oh!" Her hold on the door faltered as she swung it open; she gripped the side of it for balance. The rest of the hall was empty, but for the figure standing before her.

Edwin raised an eyebrow. " 'Tis only I."

"I'm not ready yet." She started to close the door. "I need a little more time." The door wouldn't shut.

"Worried after your reputation?" Edwin's fingers curled on the side of the door, above hers.

"What? Which reputation is that? The one where I'm the hero of Baldur's Gate, or the one where I'm a Bhaalspawn?" If they weren't tied so tight as to be inseparable.

He leaned forward. "The one where you are a young woman surrounded by dangerous men. (Or so I hear tell.)"

"I should worry about that? When I have you to threaten them all away, whether they're a danger or not?" She shook her head. "I'll just be another minute." She couldn't close the door with him standing there, but he still didn't move. "You—you wish to come in? Haven't barged into enough rooms around here lately?"

"I'd not allow a door to stop me, if I wished to barge in."

"Would you allow _me_ to stop you?"

He dropped his hand. "I've no wish to barge in, as I said."

She glanced back. "It's, ah… a bit of a mess."

"I am not surprised. You think this should scare me?"

Her fingers tightened on the door. "You could break something."

"I will be careful."

Edwin wanted to be in her _room?_ Surely this was some manner of joke, some precursor to a punchline she'd not see coming, but his eyes stayed serious, stayed fixed on her, stayed blind to the commotion fluttering inside her—she jerked her gaze away. What was she…? Yes. The door.

She stepped back, and he stepped in.

Still facing the door as it slipped shut, she dropped her hands to her side. With nothing to hold onto now, her hands longed to busy themselves.

Her sword lay propped next to the side of the bed, and the contents of her pack—few though they numbered—lay scattered across the floor mixed with soiled clothing; she'd not the time nor spell to clean them. She took in a quick breath. It didn't smell, did it? Hopefully it didn't smell.

He hadn't walked far—perhaps the pack strewn about had stopped him, not that there was so very far to go—before turning to look at her.

The room had surely shrank. She hugged her arms. "What is it?"

"Perhaps I merely wished to contribute what I could to your reputation; rumors of consorting with a Red Wizard could only serve to enhance it." Did he lean closer to her, or was this just the strange dimensions the room seemed to have shifted to?

She managed to squeeze past him—however narrowly—and began tidying up. "Very funny."

"I must be jesting?" His eyes had to be resting upon her back for the way her neck burned. "Hn."

"No, it's very generous of you. I quite appreciate the thought." Yes. _Hilarious._

"Yet you do not look so very appreciative. Does it bother you, our association?"

"Why should it?" She looked up from the clothes she'd gathered, almost dropping them. "You mean, your being a Red Wizard?" She took a step forward. "You know it doesn't—it never has! I've suddenly gone and changed, have I?"

He lifted his eyebrows.

Right. What _hadn't_ changed? "I…" Sajantha glanced down. "You're the only part that's still the same. Out of everything." She cleared her throat. "I don't care what anyone thinks. I didn't think that you did, either. Why would you ask?" This was what prompted him here? She let the clothes tumble to the bed.

"I should not wish you to over-exert yourself in my defense."

"As though you'd ever need _me_ to defend you! But I would, you know. If you did."

His gaze lowered a moment to the clothing—in no tidier a pile than they'd been on the floor—but he appeared too deep in thought to see them. "The others have returned. It is… possible I did not leave them on the best of terms."

Gods, _there_ was surely a story. "Well, if they've returned, then they're all alright at least; it couldn't be so bad as all that. Why, did you teleport and leave them in a lurch? You really ought to stop doing that, if you're ever to start considering someone besides yourself."

His dark eyes stared into her. "I was considering someone else."

"You were?" Her hands refused to stay still; she reached for the back of her neck. "Who?"

His mouth twitched. "Whom do you think? I hope you are not forcing me to insult your intelligence."

"No, I… really? You came back for me?"

One of them had taken a step closer. Or the room was still shrinking.

"Raviwr, of course. He was quite concerned about you."

"Oh. Of _course."_ So difficult to hold back her own smile when Edwin's lurked about his lips. "I don't suppose as I thanked you for that." Since all he'd done was yell at her. _The end justifies the means._

He tipped his head towards her. "Such lack of regard for others is unacceptable."

She let out a breath, almost a laugh. "I do appreciate you—all you've done for me." Her feet shifted. "You know that, right?"

A knock sounded loudly through the room; her heart jumped to echo its volume.

She glanced back at Edwin, who hadn't moved. Why was her heart pounding so fast! So jumpy, over a silly knock. One she ought to have been expecting. "I suppose I should answer that."

"I suppose you should."

She took a step back, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Do you, um. Do you want to leave first?"

"Sajantha?" Jaheira's muffled voice.

Sajantha's chest tightened.

Dark eyes almost lost in the shadow of his hood, Edwin looked down at her. "Do you wish me to leave?"

She shook her head. Heartbeat now heavy, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

Jaheira's eyes rested upon her but a moment before narrowing in on the man behind her. "Sajantha. We need to talk."

"Is everything alright, Jaheira? You look exhausted! I hope your travels went well."

"They passed by with unexpected swiftness, which is the same I could say for another."

Perhaps Edwin crossed his arms; he brushed a moment against her back. "I had business more pressing."

"This is your excuse? How many times have you yet used it—how many more will you continue to?" She fixed her sharp stare onto Sajantha. "I would speak with you. Alone."

Sajantha glanced up over her shoulder to Edwin.

His lips moved, seeming to smile as he spoke a spell and disappeared.

She could almost pretend the tingle in his wake was from brushing so closely to magic, the Weave she could no longer sense. But the woman before her seized all her attention as she took a step closer, her hard gaze daring against pleasantries. What was wrong?

"Child," the Harper was all business, "we left you in the care of a paladin of Torm, and return to find you breaking fast with an evil wizard. Do you so loathe the company of decent men?"

"Excuse me—?" The shock of it choked in her throat. "Keldorn resigned to be with his family. And Edwin—he's a decent man!—he helped me free all the slaves here!"

"Let us not begin a talk of Thayvians and slaves," Jaheira said pointedly, not to be dissuaded. She rubbed her forehead, letting out a sigh. "I do not know how to say this. Khalid was ever the one with the gentle touch."

 _Khalid._

A wave, cold and dark, swept through her, sucked the air from her. Sajantha gripped her arms, steadying her legs against the edge of the bed.

"What would Gorion think of this, you spending so much time under the influence of a Red Wizard?"

Her stomach hardened into a knot, tight enough to tense the rest of her. "I don't know. I'm starting to think I never knew him at all." What of it had been real, if their whole relationship was based upon a lie; what truth could have grown from it?

"Has the wizard been preying on your tattered good sense once again? Did it not occur to you the only reason we stomached his company was to get him away from you so that you might mend without him prowling about? 'Tis clear he works to manipulate you. Though I know not his end."

Good _gods!_ Sajantha was heating up with every second. "The end justifies the means. _That's_ what Gorion would have said." What else could have explained her father's deception? "Maybe they're not so very different." Edwin wanted her to fight for herself—to be stronger—even if he'd gone about it in such a risky way. Or, maybe… it hadn't been so risky. If he had believed in her.

 _"That_ I will pretend I did not hear, though you might want to mutter a prayer to Oghma that your father didn't either."

"As if Gorion would begrudge me the help rescuing Imoen!" Who knew her father better, truly!

"That Red Wizard is _dangerous,_ child."

Sajantha coughed out a strained laugh. "There is _nothing_ in my life that's not horrible and dark and dangerous. If he's only _one_ of those things, that makes him a good deal better than the rest of it. I don't care. _I don't care._ It doesn't matter to me who he was, or who you all think he is. None of that matters."

Jaheira's gaze was flat. "He _knows._ Have you not been meddled enough with by a wizard who _knows?"_

Every muscle of Sajantha's strained tight; the breath she gasped in stabbed her chest. "Get out. _Get out of my room."_ How could she say that. _How could she say that—!_ Even as Jaheira left, the words continued to slice through her, sharp and relentless.

(Just like him.)

 _Not._ Edwin was not. Her body pulsed with the refusal, and she almost opened the door again just so she could slam it closed. Not, not, not.

* * *

Sajantha sprawled into the bed. Face-down, where she could clutch the pillow into her; her eyes burned too hot for tears to fall, and a pressure built in her lungs to fill her throat.

She breathed out hard into the pillow.

"Going to sleep so soon? A waste of a perfectly good afternoon."

All her muscles tensed—but it was Edwin's voice—it should have reassured her, but her heart only picked up speed.

She peeked up. "You—you're still here."

"So I am."

"You weren't, this whole time?" Gods! What had he heard—just what had she said?

"Is your memory so short? You told me you did not wish me to leave."

"But," she rolled up to a sitting position, "I thought you teleported away?"

"You truly cannot sense magic anymore? You should have noticed, regardless; teleport has only a vocal component."

"You were behind me." But the words to the spell, if she'd paid attention… She sighed. "It's difficult for me to think around you."

He raised an eyebrow. "You expect this difference is noticeable?"

"I forget, with you. I forget all the terrible things I'm supposed to remember." As if things might be normal. As if _she_ might be normal.

He folded his arms, stepping back. "This is not a good thing. You need to face them."

She stared down at her lap. "I know."

"It is not a choice, Sajantha."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I know."

"Do not assume my patience is inexhaustible."

What would happen when it ran out? "Do I need to be afraid of you, like Jaheira's trying to tell me? Is that what you want—for me to fear you, like the rest of them?"

"You are nothing like the rest of them."

"What am I, then? You're looking at me like I'm a problem you're trying to solve."

"It depends upon your definition. A puzzle, certainly."

"You think you can fix me?"

"You think you are broken?"

She bit her lip. "Nothing works right anymore. How do you define that?"

"An opportunity to reconfigure for optimization."

"Well." She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Just take all the humanity out of me, why don't you."

"You are something more than human. You wish to return to the safety of your cocoon, do you." His head tilted. "Have you forgotten, already? ' _There's no such thing as safe.' "_

She'd said that, hadn't she. Too afraid to breathe a word, lest calling the memories back should call them to life, allow them back inside her. A shiver crawled across her skin. "Safety's something you carry with you. You said."

"Just so. You are changed. Whether you embrace this, and turn it into a strength—or cower from it, and allow it to be a weakness—is your own decision."

"You say that as if it could be so easy."

"So it could be. You are the only thing standing in your way." He glanced around, straightening. "Gather your things."

"What? Why?"

"Because I asked you to."

"You 'asked'? That didn't sound like a question."

"Here is a question: will you please stop mouthing off, and gather your things?"

"Only because you said 'please'." She slid off the bed, reaching for her cloak. "Where are we going?"

"Highbite. Preferably far from here; I have suffered amongst this filth long enough."

"I'm not hungry."

"Sajantha. It is ever so clear when you are lying."

"Is it?" How could he alone seem to tell? "That's not fair; I can't tell when you're lying."

"This is because I do not lie."

"No?" She folded her arms, sidling up to him with a raised brow. "Then I could ask you anything."

One corner of his mouth came up. "That is an entirely different proposition."

"That's right: you get defensive, you get angry, you turn it around and attack me, but you manage to avoid a lie, while you avoid an answer? How _impressive."_

He gave her a sneer. "I suppose you believe soft-spined kindness is a trait preferable to honesty."

"Defensive _and_ deflecting! But you forgot to tag on an insult that time."

"Ah, I must have forgotten this?"

"Unless you're censoring yourself for me? Or did you simply misplace a few words in your haste to leap to the defensive?"

"Would you rather have me on the _offensive?"_ He stepped closer. "Careful, my dear." He dropped his voice to a murmur as he leaned over her, "You have no idea what I could do to you."

The temperature in the room had surely soared; all the moisture prickled along her skin leaving none in her mouth. "What–" it took a moment to summon back her breath, "what is that supposed to mean? Are you resorting to intimidation again?"

His head tilted. "You do not seem to be taking it as a threat." A smirk, there, playing upon his lips; she jerked her gaze back to his, only his eyes were smirking, too.

Her hands hovered between them to—to push him away; so close, he stood!—but didn't dare to touch him. "That's not fair. I haven't got the physical presence to _loom_ like that." Not that he even needed that additional height, he'd still walk into any place as if he belonged there, as if it belonged to him.

Sarevok had had that, too, the sort of bearing that commanded the attention of an entire room and the confidence that took it as his due. (The confidence that had not leaked away even as he choked on his own blood—splattering her face—hot as the blood painting her fingers.)

 _'I do not fear death… do you?'_

Something caught at her feet, dragged at her—her cloak, tangled in her cloak—she staggered against the wall, and the blow against her shoulder rocked through her head; a surge of cold tightened in her gut, freezing her heart. "I—I have to go." Red bled, fingers clawing into her mind digging in deep, deeper.

The walls of the room buckled and pulsed. Shrinking, yes.

She spun—no, the room spun. Her room.

She couldn't breathe.

* * *

=E=

Sajantha didn't meet his eyes—didn't even look up— "No— _you_ should go. This is my room." With a shudder, she leaned against the wall and sank down, her breaths coming fast; she gasped them in as if winded.

"Go!" Crouching down, now, she shook her head with far more insistence than was in her trembling voice. "Go away."

"Sajantha." He repeated her name, louder, though something about her unfocused gaze named her out of reach. He knelt down to be nearer her slumped form. "Sajantha… I was not trying to intimidate you so much as that."

"Go away." Still shaky, but her voice was sharper now. "Don't look at me." She ducked her head, her face disappearing behind her hands, leaving two bright-red ear-tips unhidden.

"What is it you think I've not seen before?" Edwin sat back on his heels. "I have seen men broken. You are stubborn and shortsighted and lack the common sense the gods gave kobolds. But you were all these before. You are not broken."

"You don't know." She stood on feet still unsteady, and reached the door, fingers wavering on the knob. "Please go." The door creaked open, and she clung to it as if it were all that held her up.

Her hair fell in tangled twists across her face, hiding the reddened eyes that would not meet his. It did not seem the time to argue with her; Edwin took a step outside.

Footfalls grew louder 'til they wouldn't be ignored: like a battering ram, the Helmite came charging down the hall and did not halt 'til he'd reached Sajantha's door. "I heard you crying out—" His gaze flew between them.

Edwin suppressed a sigh. "Did you call for a rampaging bull? Because I surely didn't."

"What did you do to her!"

A chill spread from Edwin's chest as his glyph awoke.

Sajantha cried out—warning, protest?—Edwin was already readying a spell as the squire drew his sword.

" _No!"_ A blinding pulse shuddered the air; the ground disappeared—so did his balance—

A high-pitched whine screeched in his ringing ears, and the hall was thick with burning ozone: arcane energy summoned and expelled without form.

Edwin looked up from the floor, blinking.

Raviwr flapped around in broken circles—making him even more dizzy—and 'twas effort enough to drag his gaze away to the squire. (At least that armor made the lout slower to his feet.) The shimmer of one of Edwin's contingency spells blurred his vision further.

His glyph had quieted—now would be the moment to strike, to rid himself of this nuisance for good, yet…

"Sajantha?" The squire's voice was quiet.

Curled in on herself on the floor, she moved not save for the slightest motion of her breaths; the blood all over her face painted the picture more dire.

"A nosebleed." Streaked with the tears on her face, it looked worse than it was. Edwin reached to pull her up. "She needs to sit up."

The squire's gauntlet caught him in the chest, striking the air from him and nearly a layer of Stoneskin as well. "I can heal her—you can do nothing but harm her further!"

Edwin grit his teeth. "She does not require your 'help', imbecile!" The wool-brained idiot should be thanking his stupid god that she had intervened at all, else his insides would be decorating the walls. "(We know how well this worked the last time.)"

Her chest rose and fell, a steady beat. _She was alright._ Attention had best be paid to other matters: hands still close to his spell pouch, Edwin glared down at the squire. "I am not in the habit of having to repeat myself, but you refuse to listen."

Never, _never,_ had he been forced to endure such disrespect! How had it become so difficult of late for his warnings to be heeded? No disposable examples to be made use of as at the Thieves' Guild, to prove him serious. "You will keep out of our business. If I must find your friends—your family—and quietly remove them, one by one, until this penetrates your idiot skull, I will do what I must. Make no mistake."

The squire sneered, his hair flapping in his face. "Everything you say only makes the path before me more clear."

What fools were they, who held their ideals above all else! Edwin's jaw clenched tight. He had been more than generous. "You would force me to do this?" _Kill him._ The solution was simple: disintegrate him, right here, right now—no mess, no evidence—while Sajantha lied insensate, none the wiser. She would not know. She need never know.

"She'll see you for what you truly are. I am confident in this."

Edwin forced his fingers to drop from his spell pouch. "She sees what I wish her to."

"Edwin?" A croaky voice mumbled out his name.

They both looked down.

"Is Anomen alright?"

Alright? _Alright?_ "He is the same dim—"

"I am well, my lady." There was much creaking as the lout lowered himself to his knees. "I am more concerned for you."

She managed to rise only straighten partway before she flinched and hunched back down.

"You need healing," the Helmite said, reaching out to her, as Edwin barked, "Raviwr!" The imp could supply her with a potion.

"Just… just give me a moment to compose myself." She fumbled at the door behind her. "And no killing anyone while I'm gone!" Within a moment she had shut herself into her room.

Almost before the door had latched, the squire spun on him. "This is _your_ fault, you—"

"Just what in the Hells is going on back here?" The over-muscled innkeeping-slave filled up much of the hallway; his gaze caught upon the wall, and the large indentation left from the shockwave. "I've had more than a handful of complaints about you two; you're scaring the other customers."

"It is the wizard's work—"

The innkeep turned to Anomen. "I don't know you. But I do know you weren't here when we were fighting for our freedom."

"If I had known—" the squire spluttered.

"I don't know what your quarrel is, and I don't care to." The former slave stared out from deep-set eyes. "Lehtinan might have looked the other way, but I'm trying to run a respectable establishment here, and I can't have… this." He gestured at the dented wall.

"('Respectable?' Oh, yes, the haven of pirates and criminals will suddenly become a shining bastion of respectability beneath the order of a _slave—_ )"

"Then you'll not mind if I ask you to leave."

" 'Mind'?" Hardly! "You expect me to beg your forgiveness, promise it will not happen again? You will be waiting longer than it took someone to unlock that cage of yours."

The man's expression did not change. "So be it. You're both banned from lodging here. If you must pass through, you pass through, but you'll do it _quietly."_

"Both?" The squire's face screwed up in a frown. "This is all the _spell-fiddler's_ fault—"

The idiot! What did he care? He'd never even taken rooms here! "What are you complaining about? This is worthy of rejoicing, an excuse to be rid of such horrid squalor at last." Edwin gave the man a sneer. "Had a taste of power and now you must flaunt it, eh? I hope this is the last I must deal with you as well."

The innkeeper-slave raised his hands. "I'd thank you again for what you've done, yet I know my words mean little to you."

"Less than that."

"Keep looking after your… friend."

Edwin's gaze returned to Sajantha's door. Surely this would at last be excuse enough for her to leave this miserable place. Long enough overdue.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Thanks to Kyn for help with edits this chapter and I also should admit I copied some lines from her suggestions* - thank youuu - and I didn't change everything so hopefully it still meets your approval! ':D_

 _*What can I say; she's better at writing some of my characters than I am. :P_


	30. Dissidents

=E=

Time to be gone from this place. Good riddance, indeed. 'Twas not as if his room at the Coronet had served welcome beyond its barest functions; 'twas far too reminiscent of his first year at the academy before he'd passed the test to earn an upgrade.

His pack and other loose belongings gathered (as well as the residual filth in presumed accompaniment), Edwin stepped out of his room only to encounter the druid.

She appeared as pleased as he felt, though the frown that pulled at her mouth it could be argued was more a default expression than purposeful. "I know not what to say to you, Wizard."

Then why had the wench disturbed him? Edwin shrugged. "It is no surprise inferior mental faculties should render you speechless in my presence; I'll not hold it against you."

Her lips thinned. "Threats and warnings will not faze you; appeals to your heart are, without a doubt, pointless."

"Without a doubt." Shifting his pack across his shoulder, Edwin crossed his arms. "Just as pointless as this speech thus far; have you a point to make?"

"If I cannot warn you, I will remind you: those who meddle in the fates of gods rarely last long beyond the doing."

"Is this suspicion, or stupidity? We stand on the same side, you moss-brained idiot! Your hostilities are ill-placed."

"I stand beside you only to keep my back from you," she spat. "I have not forgotten your history, how quickly you change sides. My own loyalties are not so easily transferable."

"No?" Oh, _this_ would be fun. "How are you so certain? I have heard you question Sajantha. You claim you are supportive, yet all the while doubt quietly eats away at your trust. If she should waver, fall short of your ideals, I wonder who will be the first to abandon her?"

Her eyes flashed. "You dare–! I have stood beside her since she was a child."

"And view her as such no longer? Molded her into the upstanding citizen she is, undoubtedly, guiding her actions through your beliefs." 'Twas quite the pity Harpers had so permeated Sajantha's early life. "Has she had the chance to make a decision on her own, or have you always been there to push her? Do you fear to leave her now, that she will lapse at once and succumb to her 'inherently murderous' ways?"

"I do not hold her to a leash! She is not—she can make her own decisions!"

Edwin straightened, throwing back his cloak. "Then stand aside and allow her to, woman! Or do you trust her so little?"

Her eyes still stared daggers as he left her stewing behind him. Pfeh. Harpers were almost as irritating as paladins, and almost as easily manipulated; this should keep them off his back. For the time being.

More and more, Anomen was looking to be the real problem. Just as with Sajantha, there must be a diversion from the original course.

All of his plans seemed to grow more tangled of late.

* * *

=S=

Her head was still pounding, her legs still jelly, but the silence on the other side of her door was more worrisome than a shouting match would be; Sajantha peered out into the hall.

Edwin had disappeared—back to his room?—but Anomen had waited outside for her, and he straightened from leaning against the wall when he saw her. It only took him a moment to explain what she'd missed.

Hendak… the proud man rose into her mind, but 'twas difficult to reconcile his gratitude with kicking them all out. Truly, after all they'd done?

"What is going on?" Yoshimo stepped into the hall, Minsc and Jaheira on his heels. "Bernard told me of some disturbance back here?"

"Yoshimo! It's good to see you all back. Did Bernard tell you the rest? That Edwin and I

overturned the slave ring here?" Surely that was worth something, however Jaheira had brushed it off before!

Jaheira's lips tightened, but she had the grace to look a bit abashed. "The new innkeeper's asked _some of us_ to leave. He said we," and here Jaheira rolled her eyes towards Edwin's door, "were making the other patrons nervous." Clearly Edwin he wished gone; Amnians were wary enough of mages, anyway, and a Red Wizard's presence hadn't been remarked upon especially favorably. Now that he had an excuse…

It didn't make it any easier to swallow. "It's not fair! After everything we did for them?" Sajantha shook her head in disbelief. To be thrown out in such a way! Her headache only sharpened, throbbing an exclamation point.

"Overturning the slave ring, you said?" Anomen repeated. "That is quite an impressive accomplishment, my lady."

"Edwin did most of the work."

Both he and Jaheira grimaced at his name.

"Boo did not like Lehtinan," Minsc announced, as if the matter were decided.

Sajantha gave him a smile, grateful they at least had something to agree on.

"Are you feeling alright, Sajantha?" Anomen's voice was soft.

"I don't know. I'm—my head hurts. Everything just…" She raised her hands to her head. "It hurts."

"Is there anything I can help with? I would heal you—"

"I told you." Her laugh was bitter. "You can't fix me."

"Sajantha." He took hold of her hands, lifting them from her gently. "Please talk to me. You aren't making any sense. What is troubling you?"

What _wasn't?_ "Please don't fight with Edwin," she begged.

"He—! But he is _evil—"_

She jerked her hands from his grasp. "You can't just throw that word at anyone who disagrees with you!"

There was no softness in Anomen now, certainly not in his flashing eyes. "I know not why you cannot see it! He is _using_ you. You think he saved those slaves for any other reason—"

' _For me.'_ Her heart skipped a beat. "Edwin is my _friend._ He helped me save four children because I asked him for help—he didn't make me sell my soul, no contracts were involved, _there was no using._ If anything, I was using him! I understand you don't like him—fair enough. But that doesn't give you free rein to attack him! Please don't fight with him."

Anomen straightened. "My lady, he is the one who—"

"I know it isn't easy. I know he sorely tempts it. But you don't have to listen to him when he gets like that. His temper has a short fuse, aye, but it has a shorter duration; you just have to wait for it to blow out. Don't give in to it."

"I will try," he said, though nothing in his tone approved.

The others, mercifully, were quiet.

"We're all going," she said, and no one disagreed.

* * *

=S=

Footfalls sounded loudly in the Underhalls, the echoes making it impossible to gauge their distance. The stone ground reached up to catch her feet in a trail of sticky red footprints, and a shadow grew above as if to swallow her.

The darkness floating overhead spoke: "You wouldn't leave those if you were flying." Sajantha's gaze swept upwards to see Miirym's wings stretched out—Miirym the glorious silver dragon, not her faded lich self—and the gust from her wings knocked loose some stone from the ceiling, inviting the black of night to pour in and fill the space.

"I chomped off their threads of fate and now they tie me down—how many tied together to tangle me? One life, two lives, three—and Miirym is here for one-thousand years, two—and three? We can't escape them." The ceiling had already filled in again, smooth brick that encircled them.

"Oh," Sajantha's throat choked. "Oh, Miirym." Still here, chained forever beneath Candlekeep.

"You can't save me, my darling. How can you save me, if you can't save yourself?"

Save herself…? Sajantha looked down, only she couldn't stretch so very far: she was—bound? Rope encircled her chest, tying her hands behind her.

All around her, ropes and chains hung from the black ceiling. Those suspended metal cages, too small to turn around in, were the same as—as the dungeon ( _his_ dungeon)—

 _drip drip drip_

Figures hung, limp and boneless—gods, they might have even _been_ boneless—some of them still bleeding.

"I didn't—I didn't do that. That's not my fault." No, these deaths didn't belong to her. Sajantha leaned away.

Their faces were pressed against the bars, mouths open in silent appeal. No— _no_ faces, skinless, skinned—

Empty staring sockets—

She tore her gaze away and the shadows deepened at the edge of her vision.

"Don't leave me here—Miirym! It's dark. Miirym." Sajantha's teeth chattered.

"But you left me here." Unfamiliar eyes stared out from a once-familiar face; Imoen hunched in the darkness. In a blink, her face was inches from Sajantha's own, her breath warm against the dungeon's chill. "Cast light. If it's so dark, why don't you cast a light spell?"

"I can't." The magic had been ripped out of her, torn out of her in pieces, shredded. Only Irenicus knew how to put it back together.

Imoen stared at her, eyes too dark to reflect anything. "I don't know if I should untie you."

"Imoen—Imoen, it's me." Sajantha fidgeted, tugging at her bonds.

"You can't cast light. You can't cast _light._ Why?"

"Untie me." Over the sound of distant footsteps, metal whined, a high-pitched grating as it scraped along a wall. "P-please." Threat curled heavy in the air around them, pulsing with its nearness.

"Sure, everyone's wanting out—but does the world really want us out?" A voice rang out—low to the ground—and sent tendrils of disquiet snaking down her back; Sajantha twisted to get the speaker into view—Neb, from the Flaming Fist prison. "Maybe it's safer if we all just stay in here." The chuckling gnome grinned, eyes glinting black. The child-killer.

Beside him, an elven pair of aqua-colored eyes blinked. "Y-you told me it was safer if I stayed." _Aerie._ "You told me I'd be safe."

"It's not, it's not safe out there." But here…? Menace throbbed through the room, filling it as surely as the figures kept coming.

A line of Flaming Fist soldiers lurched into view (missing pieces), faces she might have once known but the only thing familiar was the 'Y' shaped pattern of blood on their tabards.

" _Miirym!"_ Where was she? Where _was_ she? "Imoen—" But Imoen's stare was blank.

All of them circled around her, staring down.

They weren't going to untie her. They weren't going to let her go.

Sajantha swallowed. "Are—are you going to kill me?"

Imoen cocked her head, gaze still empty. "That's what you're supposed to do with murderers, isn't it?"

"Slavers are not the only ones whose disposition death would improve," said Edwin.

"Death may be a mercy," came Keldorn's voice.

* * *

=E=

The fortunate way the Five Flagons was arranged, Edwin could ward the entire floor: it granted an opportunity to study without the inevitable interruption of neighboring dolts—at least unfamiliar ones—for the group had booked the back half of the second floor, leaving the common area between their four rooms free of any other patrons passing by, and leaving Edwin free to monitor all goings-on.

A crackle sounded from the fireplace as a log snapped—obscuring the sound of aught else—and a silent shadow materialized at his side.

"I can't sleep." Light flickered across Sajantha's face where she stood at the edges of the fire's glow.

"Do you miss the squalid embrace of the Coronet so much?" A relief, that this last scuffle had prompted the former slave to toss them out. Being rid of the place was worth suffering the indignity. "I'm sure the druid can brew some foul-smelling concoction that should serve you."

Her gaze—arresting—stood out far too much. Eyes too dark, or skin too pale? "You were wrong," she said. "You're wrong: it's broken. My magic. Or _I_ am. I tried—I tried! Every time I try–" Her voice wavered.

"I can guarantee crying about it will solve nothing." With hope, she was not yet so far gone as to not hear him. Whatever method with which he approached her, her behavior remained too inconsistent to entirely predict. Surely he could maneuver her with enough leverage, with a precise application of pressure from the right angle…

She shook her head, covering her mouth, and her eyes clouded, uncomfortably close to the same look before she'd had her episode.

 _Damn Irenicus!_ How simply would his work have proceeded otherwise? What should have been a straightforward plan of action had grown far too twisted, and navigating a path through this tangle was taking valuable time from the Scroll. Yet neither was any good without the other.

He lowered his notes onto his lap as he shifted on the couch. "Sit down."

"The Scroll," she whispered, and his hand tightened upon it, but her reach didn't come any nearer, though she leaned upon his shoulder to better look at it, eyes wide. "I've not even asked how your progress has been going with that."

He shrugged. "It goes." 'Twould have gone far faster if the divination books he'd first gathered had not been so incredibly useless. "Were we not speaking of your own magic?"

"I'd rather not." Her eyes stayed on his papers. Not that she could read aught of them without access to his cipher. And not without her magic. "Anything else."

"Why has this upset you so?" She'd proven what he'd known, after all; latent as her magic may be, 'twas not _gone._ "You cast a spell: something more to show than any attempt before."

"It hurt," she whispered. "It hurt me. Not the wands, this time: my own magic. Like something was ripping, inside me…" She sank back into the couch, holding her arms. "Can I just stay here? For a little while. I won't say anything."

He stared at her. _Perpetually_ disheveled, this one: the unkempt nature of her room had been of little surprise. She'd not slept—at least not well—with the the bruised smudges beneath her eyes, the tangled twists of hair, the bare feet and ankles peeking out of her nightgown, she hardly belonged in public; her outward disarray no doubt reflected her internal struggle. But perhaps 'twas not the time to comment upon it. "As you like."

She rested her head against the back of the couch. A small line remained to furrow her brow even as her eyes slipped shut.

He lifted the Scroll. Little difficulty in continuing his study: true to her word, she remained silent but for her even breaths (not especially distracting), but 'twas not long before a bump alerted him, and he looked down to see golden waves; her head tipped against him, a weight—however light—upon his shoulder.

Her face for once relaxed, smooth and still. (Surely 'twas her skin too pale, for how dark the lashes swept against it.)

His arm remained free enough to continue reading. So he did, pausing a moment before returning to the text. This latest translation looked to have at last the key words he searched for. It could not be long before the right pages appeared, but the fire had died to warm embers before he took note of the hour: how long…?

 _Someone is coming_. The alert through his bond stiffened his limbs—not enough to wake Sajantha, though she stirred—yet without a follow-up from either Raviwr or his glyph to name danger, 'twas nothing he needed react to. His free hand reached towards his spell components all the same.

The Harper stared at him as she stepped off the staircase, the glow of the fading fire on her face.

Sajantha had somehow forced him into a bit of a slouch; if he straightened, it would jar her. Edwin lifted his chin, instead, and an eyebrow in challenge, but the druid, lips parted, for once seemed at a loss for words. A victory difficult to enjoy when her interference must be suffered for it.

The room remained still, quiet enough to hear footsteps cross the floor above, a muffled closing door.

Jaheira's gaze shifted away; when it returned to Sajantha, the fire-light caught at her eyes.

"I… don't know how to speak with her." Reluctant, as if the words dragged out of her, instead of catapulted with the normal angry zeal she threw at him.

" 'Twould be of benefit to us all if you cease treating her like a broken thing."

She touched her mouth. "I heard her. I _saw_ her. What he… Irenicus…" Jaheira gave her head a shake. "You do not know all that was done to her."

' _You should have seen them before,'_ Sajantha had said of the scars.

But the druid knew less than she thought. "I do not need to; the details are irrelevant. Look to what she is capable of becoming—not the remains of what she was—or she can never move past it." Did he need to involve himself with coaching the entire lot of them? So many side-trails to travel, 'twas more than a little taxing to keep track of.

And here returned her familiar snarl (as rabid and ferocious as any of the woodland creatures she so preferred) to devour the smoothness upon her face: "And just what would you have her become, _Wizard?"_ She always spat the term as if it could insult him, spite twisting her tongue.

"You cannot argue that she needs to change. That her reliance upon others weakens her."

"I wonder, then," her turn to raise an eyebrow, "just what you are trying to do here?"

The weight of Sajantha's head rested warm against his shoulder, a loose lock of hair close to tickling his chin. He cleared his throat, shifting a bit, and the calmness left her face as she jerked awake, hand clenching for her weapon.

Or would have—if she'd been equipped with it—instead, she fumbled blindly a moment at his leg before realization struck her, creeping with a flush across the back of her neck.

Pity the druid's presence forced him to contain his amusement; he could with ease have spread that blush much further.

Strands of hair caught across Sajantha's face; she wiped them away like they were far too heavy, blinking. "What time is it?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Time for us to be abed." The older woman stood with arms crossed, though her voice had gentled.

Sajantha looked between them before gathering herself. She rose, leaving a cold space against his shoulder as the open air reached it; she sent a glance back at him before reaching her room. "Goodnight."

The druid was staring at him.

 _Gods._ He did not have the energy for this presently. "Spit out what you will, and be done."

Jaheira shook her head, lips thin. "She trusts you. I wish to the gods you could understand what that is worth."

"I can assure you that I do." Something he would need to take care cultivating, especially with the druid's determination to chip away at it. For once, Sajantha's stubbornness served him well.

"Beyond its use to you," she added, and closed her door.

Edwin returned to his reading. Within minutes, the fire had darkened enough to obscure the writing upon the page. Summon a light now, or retire?

"She still awake, Master."

"Let her be."

Silent, but his familiar's sulky presence nagged at him.

"Do I need to ward her room from invasive imps,as well?"

A bar of light glowed beneath Sajantha's door.

"Too many candles," Raviwr pouted.

"She'll not burn the place down." The shadow would prevent any harm from coming to her, even from herself.

* * *

=S=

Other than that brief nap earlier—against Edwin's shoulder, gods! Sajantha's face warmed—she'd slept only fitfully, giving up sometime deep into the night.

She returned to the couch—empty, now—and leaned back into the cushions, then buried her face against the backrest. Was there yet a trace of Edwin on it? The faintest hint of spice where he'd sat, though she had to inhale so very deep for the slightest scent of it, earning a nose-full of dust for her trouble.

She froze with her hand raised to wipe at her nose; she wasn't alone.

Dressed only in a loose shirt and linen trousers and sandals, Yoshimo nearly looked a different person; his long dark hair, unbound, fell past his shoulders.

The moment felt strangely private, as if she had glimpsed far more than she ought. "Oh! Yoshimo. What are you up to?"

"Ah." His teeth flashed in the dim light. " 'Seeing a man about a dog', I believe is the phrase."

Was that some kind of secret rogue business? Probably best not to inquire. "So… everything worked out?"

His eyes laughed. "Indeed."

"Are you going straight to bed?" She cleared her throat. "I mean, could you stay and talk to me for a little while?"

Yoshimo stepped around, leaning in over the back of the couch. "What is on your mind?"

"I suppose 'everything' might be a bit much to go over."

He chuckled, settling into the armchair across her. "We shall start smaller, then."

"I… I don't think I want to talk. But, could you? Tell me about yourself. About Kozakura." Something, anything.

"You appeal to my vanity, I see! I hope it will be enough to keep your interest, for this is indeed a subject I could stay up at all hours discussing." He grinned.

"I don't want to keep you so late as that." His skills—even more than most—required all the coordination and alertness a good sleep could provide. "Just one thing." His family—she almost asked about his family—but the only time his humor had ever slipped was when he'd mentioned losing his sister. "Tell me… what happened on those islands you can't return to." Something new for her mind to mull over when she returned to her room.

"Oh!" He clutched his chest as if wounded. "You wretched girl! Forcing me to relive my most embarrassing moments, eh?" But he leaned forward with eyes sparkling. "You must promise me these tales will not leave this room, yes? A thief must have his reputation in this town."

He leaned forward, hands loosely clasped. "After a daring burglary from a great _daimyo's_ estate, I had the misfortune of knocking a roof tile upon one of his guard's heads—the tile cracked; his head didn't—and I earned myself a shadow as I raced across the rooftops.

"Now, this daimyo had his home not far from the entertainment district, and where did this next roof collapse but the pleasure quarters! One bag of loot, one pile of dust, one Yoshimo, and several _oiran._ I have interrupted their _koto_ performance, but the music keeps playing. 'Only women are allowed in this room,' one calmly tells me. That is fine by me! 'Have you a spare _kimono,'_ I ask."

"No!" she giggled. "Really?"

He gave a reassuring nod. "Oh, yes. And these lovely women had not only a _kimono_ to spare, but their face paints as well. So it was with a white face and red lips that I faced the guards, who were promptly shooed away, none the wiser. The _oiran,_ of course, received a donation for their trouble."

He stroked his chin. "It took the goatee many months to grow back out…" He stretched his arms behind his head, leaning back, "But I never did smell so fine ever again."

Sajantha laughed—really _laughed;_ she couldn't even help it, and Yoshimo's pleased grin just tickled her all the more. "That is the sort of thing that ought be immortalized in verse! I might even be persuaded to change your name."

"I hope this satisfies your thirst for my humiliation!" He stood up, and her smile lost hold. "You are staying up?" He brushed off his pants and sat back down. "Hm, I may have at least one more story in me this evening. Now, this one most assuredly did not take place anytime recently, you understand?"

* * *

 _ **Daimyo** (Japanese) - one of the great lords who were vassals of the shogun in feudal Japan. Also in Kozakura. ;D_

 _ **Oiran** (Japanese) - courtesan (popular before geishas took over in the 19th century)_

 _ **Koto** (Japanese) - 12-stringed traditional musical instrument_

 _ **Kimono** (Japanese) - polite and very formal traditional clothing_

* * *

=E=

Edwin stepped out into the common room, eying the plush couch and decorative tapestries. This morning promised to be better than those before, if the location was any indication.

Sajantha opened her door within a moment of his knocking, eyes widening a bit as her gaze met Edwin's.

He glanced into her room, eyebrows raised. "Not so very messy now." A pleasant enough surprise.

"I haven't had a chance to muss it yet." She bit her lip. "Do you think…" Her voice sped up, as if she plunged ahead without regard to her footing: "Do you think I might help you, with the Scroll? 'Twould give me something to work at, and maybe…"

" _No."_ He didn't let her finish; there was naught she could say that would change things. Not that she needed to know this. Edwin cleared his throat. "Unnecessary. I will inform you if I should require your help, of course."

"Of course," she echoed, the words strangely flat, and turned away.

"Ah, Sajantha! Good morning."

Truly, _this?_ By all the gods! How had that wretched dolt so quickly discovered their new lodgings?

Sajantha gave Anomen an attempt at a smile, not quite enough to brighten the dark corners of her eyes. _'I can fool the rest of them, though, you think?'_

"Did you rest well?" the buffoon inquired.

"You needn't worry after me." Deftly avoiding an answer, she stepped out of her room.

"I did not mean to—"

Edwin grimaced. "Have you a quest for us or not? We waste valuable daylight with your pointless chatter."

Sajantha's back stiffened, but she did not turn. "Thank you, Anomen; I appreciate your concern. I'm fine, though. We'd best get to the task at hand, if you have one?"

"Of course." The squire raised his chin. "The Order requires outside aid with this mission. An investigation into… some former members of ill repute." His gaze slid to Edwin. "I of course thought of you."

'Former' members? This could very well be interesting. "You speak of paladins fallen from the grace of your god, yes? Does their turning their backs upon all you hold dear make you question the logic of your own mindless adherence to antiquated strictures we might better call shackles? Will we be butchering them, then, for daring escape their pen and leaving the rest of you sheep bleating protest that your ideals might not be so very grand in their design, after all? (I can already tell you these 'fallen' paladins will be more open to reason than any current members.)"

"Edwin. He can't answer us if you keep that up." Sajantha raised her eyebrows. "And I _know_ you cankeep it up." Yes. Yes, he certainly could, quite indefinitely, but the squire's face was a satisfying shade of red, and perhaps that would be enough. For now.

"The great Sir Ryan Trawl wishes assistance; I shall allow him to explain to you." His jaw clenched. "I suggest you conduct yourself with more respect within mine own stronghold and beneath the eye of the Watcher."

"What have they done, exactly?" Sajantha glanced between them. "These fallen paladins. I hope their crime isn't simply for divergent viewpoints…?"

"Of course not! They were full paladins, and turned their back on their sworn oaths. That kind of disregard—it's inconceivable!" (Far more inconceivable would be to enter the afterlife still shackled to such service, but one never accused paladins of having much imagination.)

"Keldorn set aside his oaths for his family," Sajantha pointed out. "There's got to be reasons and exceptions."

"Retiring is different than _falling._ They acted in a manner unbefitting all they stood for, and even their gods could support them no longer. These men have been engaging in slavery, by some reports!"

Her lips pressed together. "Hm."

Edwin shook his head. "And so quickly does your sympathy vanish?" Yes, that would bring her around, as amusing as it had been to watch the debate.

"Yes. I… I rather think so." She turned away, bringing to mind the moment they'd reached the Coronet's back rooms. _'Did you know?'_ she'd demanded. As if he'd been single-handedly supplying the entire operation!

* * *

=S=

Yoshimo smiled at her as she passed—Minsc gave her a pat on the head—and Jaheira ignored them all, gaze intent on the path before them as Anomen led them through the twists and turns of the Temple District.

Sajantha hurried her stride to catch up to Anomen. "Sir Ryan Trawl, he's the paladin you squire for, isn't he?"

"Indeed." He kept his face forward, ignoring the breeze tugging playfully at his hair. "It is my great honor to do so."

"And when you're a knight, what happens then?"

"I would continue to serve under his command, but at a greater rank."

"Will you have a squire of your own, then?"

He didn't smile as he ought, though; his mouth twisted more in a grimace. "Do not speak of 'when' as if my Judgment will be favorable; you know it not."

"My mother was an oracle, so mayhap I do." 'Twas not so difficult to imagine him as one of the grand crusaders, though hopefully not so grim as did his mentor look. What else would get through his dreary outlook? "I've a more objective view than you, I think, when you're so caught up in your weak points. Don't forget how strong you are. How brave. And gods, Anomen, you've been working at it your whole life! No one could fail to see how dedicated you are."

"I… I shall pray they look upon me half so favorably as you."

Sajantha shook her head. "You're easily the most dramatic of us two right now. Who would take _me_ for the bard with lines like that!"

His lips twitched, but she'd not quite granted him a smile. "Your mood seems lighter today," he replied cautiously.

Maybe Edwin was right, after all; it had been good to get away from the Coronet.

Sir Ryan remained as implacable a figure as last time, and explained the situation with terse sentences and steely blue eyes that dared them to defy him. With his words of caution and advice on where to find them—a place Anomen was fortuitously familiar with—they made it to the Bridge District, combing alleyways until they spotted their quarry.

A group of warriors in plate mail was difficult to keep hidden, after all.

Stacks of crates shielded the alley from view, but Sajantha could just make out the glint of armored figures behind: the others, taller, could see more.

"That's them." Anomen nodded with his chin down, looking ready to charge right there. "I recognize some of those men."

"Hn." Edwin didn't look impressed. "Let us simply ward the area against escape and slaughter them all. The druid may call some of her entangling vines, and I shall summon a cloud of poison; we need not even dirty our hands."

Jaheira's eyes narrowed. "And what of the surrounding populace?"

"Bah!" Edwin dismissed them with a slicing hand. "You know how this will end! Why present yourselves to them, knowing the charade will inevitably fail? Kill them _before_ they are alerted!" He glanced at Sajantha. "Or do you think you may _reason_ with them?" The disgust in his voice rocked through her, and she sucked in a breath.

Anomen leaned back on his heels with his arms crossed, reined in for the moment. "Anarg is not among them," he said with disappointment.

"Then we infiltrate after all," Yoshimo said.

"So be it," said Edwin, not sounding particularly enthused with their chances.

Sajantha ignored them all, striding past the shopkeepers' stalls into the alleyway.

A slight man dressed in leathers dyed a raucous blue—surely not a paladin—gave a derisive laugh, though his attention seemed locked on the five armored men before him. "Ha! What, are you trying to convince me that you're still part of the Order, eh, Reynald? You still think you're some kind of goody-goody paladin, eh? You know what I hear? I hear you lost your paladin-hood due to some moxie that seduced you and used you like a patsy! What was her name, now? Celestine, wasn't it?"

The man called Reynald's face reddened. "You know nothing of her, fool! And while I may no longer meet the Order's standards, I'll not stand by and listen to a cur such as you cheapen Celestine's name!"

Love? He'd left the Order for love?

Sajantha's step faltered.

The blue man sucked down a potion—an invisibility potion!—leaving the space where he stood empty. From the shadows came a half-dozen figures in leathers, fanning out in an attack formation.

"Jaheira!" Sajantha pointed towards where the man had stood. Within moments, bright blue appeared: the figure stood behind Reynald, dagger held aloft.

Anomen's sword cut into his back.

Battle had broken out, leaving a volley of projectiles in the air; Sajantha ducked behind a crate as a bolt connected with a thunk. Crossbows would have no trouble piercing through armor! She reached for her wand of fear, fingers trembling against it as the ghostly pain of yesterday's casting pulsed within her.

She peeked out. _Someone_ had cast entangling vines—the greenery grew to grasp at legs, focused on the paladins—but arrows were flying on their side now, into the leather-clad men and women, interspersed with darts of fire.

Sajantha bit her lip. Casting fear would only make the figures harder to aim at, and 'twas clear they were already losing; 'twas a systematic slaughter once the knights broke free of the entangle.

After the battle, Reynald made his way towards them. A good-natured face peered out from beneath a sweaty brow—he wiped at it distractedly before giving her a deep nod. "Greetings to you, friend. I am grateful for your aid against these dogs, and would know your name if you are willing to give it."

"I'm Sajantha. And these are my friends: Jaheira, Minsc, Yoshimo, Anomen, and Edwin."

"Well met!" He seemed unaware of just how disarming was his smile; Sajantha felt her cheeks heat. "I am Reynald de Chatillon, once of the Order and now under the leadership of Anarg. Might you be interested in employment? We have need of strong backs and steady sword-arms."

"We are indeed looking for work," Yoshimo said, "if the pay is adequate, of course."

"Of course!" Reynald echoed with enthusiasm, the matter surely settled in his mind. "Then I've a task for you: when I left the Order, the paladins stripped my Cup from me." A somber light filled his eyes. "The Cup is… important to me." Important enough one could hear the capitalization of the word. "Perhaps you could retrieve it."

"You ask for the impossible!" Anomen started forward, brow furrowed. "Sajantha, he sets you up for failure; he has no intention of allowing you to join him."

The group of men, silent heretofore, bristled. "Who are you, to know so much of the Order?" one of them asked, and Reynald's frowning face showed a tinge of recognition.

A man pushed forward from the back. "I remember him." His eyes narrowed at Anomen. "It's been some time, but I know I've seen you following Trawl about like a lost puppy. Has he let his lap dog off the leash, then?"

Edwin brushed imaginary dirt from his sleeve. "The idiot has 'fallen' to the same depths as the rest of you. (Why is anyone surprised by this?)"

"He is correct. I…" Anomen's face was red and he spoke through clenched teeth. "I failed my test."

At this, the mood—of the others, at least—lightened. "Welcome to the company, lad," came a chorus of suddenly amicable voices. The men looked just shy of patting his back after being ready to string him up just seconds ago!

"Let us discuss this 'setting us up for failure', then, hm?" Edwin glanced between them. "I mislike being misled."

"The cups are well-guarded and not to be removed for any reason," Anomen explained. " 'Twould incite battle with the entire Order's guardian force."

"A trap, then. To see if we are allied with the Order?" Jaheira said, then grimaced as if she wished she could take it back.

"Aye," Reynald released the word with a defeated sigh, his cheerful countenance cracking. "Anarg suggested it, and I let my hopes blind me. But you are correct: the cup is lost to me." He gave his head a shake. "I'm sure we can find something you may help with, though."

Behind him, the fallen paladins began to unpack the crates.

Sajantha took a step closer to Reynald, for it felt like they might begin a private conversation. "So what was that about, earlier?" She wanted to ask about the woman they'd mentioned—the urge of it itched at her throat—but she'd have to ease in surreptitiously for she couldn't claim aught but her own curiosity.

"Breaking ties with a smuggling ring. Not something one does without preparation—or numbers." Reynald gave her a slight smile.

That wouldn't work. "It's a good thing you've so many men with you. How did you all come to be together?"

Reynald looked almost pained, then apologetic. "We do not often share the particulars of our downfall. I would not expect one who is not Fallen to understand. We… seek the solace of each other's company because we come from the same place."

"I think I see. You all have something quite in common, then." All outcasts. "So…" She had to try! "I oughtn't ask about Celestine?"

Reynald's lips quirked up, but his face was too sad for it to be a smile.

"I'm sorry. I just—I'd love to know about her. I want to… to understand… a love like that." Giving all he was up? It must have been something so incredible, for all he didn't wish to share it.

"Celestine," he said with a sigh, as if resigning himself to the telling. "A gypsy diviner. Smart as a whip and sharp as a knife, with a smile like the sunrise." His ears reddened. "Apologies. She always brings out my poetic side. I have not…" He cleared his throat. "I've not spoken of her in a time."

"She sounds lovely."

"Aye, she was that."

" 'Was?' "

"Oh, still is, I expect. Wherever she is." His wistful smile had grown lopsided, as if gravity tugged it down.

"What happened?" Sajantha held her breath.

His gaze fell, 'til he was staring at their feet. "She was unlicensed. To keep her from discovery, I allowed her the use of my home while I was out on Order business. I returned to find a Cowled Wizard about to take her away. I… slew him. And that, as they say, is that." He raised his head. "I had harbored a fugitive and murdered a member of the law, interfering with Council-sanctioned due process which Tyr could not… could not abide."

"That's terrible! Has he no pity?"

"Another Cowled Wizard dead is no loss." Anomen was watching with crossed arms. Had he been listening the whole time?

Reynald gave an empty smile, little more than a twitch of his lips. "I would be imprisoned or dead if not for Anarg; I owe him my loyalty."

'Twasn't as if words could help alleviate that pain, not if he'd lost his god and his love both, but, "I'm so sorry," Sajantha said softly. "I know how awful the Cowled Wizards can be, though we've tried to stay out of their business."

"I wonder if they know a Red Wizard is of your company," Anomen interjected.

"A Red Wizard?" Reynald's posture sharpened, a glint in his eyes, before his shoulders dropped into a shrug. "Well. A justiciar is but one of the things I am no longer."

"You've fallen far, mayhap. But you needn't reach the bottom—surely there's better work than what Anarg's making you do."

His forehead creased. "You know Anarg?"

Sajantha's heart skipped a beat. "He's a reputation, is all. I confess I'd rather work for you than he." Though, oops, that wouldn't aid them in confronting Anarg so very well, would it?

"Well, perhaps that can be arranged." Reynald signed with his hand for them to wait a moment, then walked into the midst of the other fallen paladins, leaving her a moment to catch her breath.

"It's rather sweet, isn't it?" she blurted before anyone could point out her error. "Choosing love over everything else, despite one's loyalties. Even though his Order turned on him for it."

"Ridiculous," said Edwin, at the same time as Anomen's, "It only proves his faith was weak."

Despite agreeing, they only had glares for each other.

"There is no need to become familiar with them." Jaheira had her usual lecturing tone. "You know what we must do."

"Keep your distance." Edwin's voice was low. "You more than most should take heed."

"Distance," she echoed dully. Right. He was—of course—right. It would hurt so much less if Reynald had been but one of the other nameless suits of armor, if she'd never come to realize he could have been a friend.

Reynald returned a few moments later with a folded cloth in his arms. "Your first mission has been decided: go to this address in the Docks. Hang this flag out."

A signal. For whom—for what?

"A monkey could do this," Edwin complained. "You expect us to believe you need aid with such a small thing? (I smell another trap.)"

"We're supposed to keep clear of the Docks," one of the fallen told them. "Don't want to start trouble with the Shadow Thieves."

Sajantha's jaw clenched. "Are you trying to frighten us? You've surely heard we've had some dealings with the Shadow Thieves." She cocked her head. "So you know we took down Mae'Var and his entire guildhouse. In an evening."

"What I 'know' is that our people aren't welcome down there, and if you're carrying our colors, you're not either."

"It might be best if your group splits up so as not to gather more attention than necessary," Reynald explained apologetically.

"I can shadow Sajantha," Yoshimo offered, giving her a smile.

"As can I," Edwin broke in, "(with far more convincing means)."

"Invisibility?"

He gave a nod.

"Thanks," she told them. "Then Minsc and Jaheira can follow right behind us."

"Boo would like to be invisible," Minsc informed them. "But then how would evil know whose name to shout in fear?"

Edwin muttered something that 'twas probably fortunate no one caught.

* * *

Travel through the Docks at night with an invisible escort was almost thrilling; the cutting wind braced her, filling her lungs and her heart so that she skipped a step. A time or two she surely felt Edwin's cloak gusting against her legs, and she spent the next several steps trying to pinpoint his location.

The whisper of cloth revealed him to her left, there, and she leaned into him a bit—just a bit—but within a moment legs were tangled, tripping; she took a hard lunge forward before catching her balance. No loud thumps named Edwin any unluckier, but he was hardly happy. "You clumsy twit!" he hissed.

"Sorry." She winced.

There was something that might have been a rogue's chuckle.

They passed several minutes in silence, until the shadows suddenly began to move before them, coalescing into a robed figure. "You," purred a voice, then _"You!"_ it yowled.

Sajantha reached for her blade.

"Bow before Cyric and he may spare—"

Sickly green spellwork lit the space and the side of his face, where skin bubbled, and the Cyricist collapsed to the ground with a knife in his chest and his face melted.

Sajantha stared at the body as she resheathed her sword. "He was a touch mad. That probably made the two of us even!"

Edwin hadn't bothered to return his invisibility and raised his eyebrows. "You wished to use him as practice?" He paused as if considering.

"It is difficult to apologize for, ah, cutting in—" Yoshimo reached to pull his dagger from the man's chest, "when battles leave little time for hesitation."

"Well. That's why you were chaperoning me anyway." Truly, did she feel put-out that she'd been denied a kill? What was this feeling? It wasn't—it couldn't be—Bhaal…?

Sajantha bit at her fingernail, then waved her hand. "He's dead, anyway, and that's all that matters."

"If Cyricists are after you, this cannot be so easily swept beneath the rug," Edwin demurred. "They are as multitudinous and jumpy as rabbits."

"And as slippery," added Yoshimo.

"Yes, well, what's one more on the list." It wasn't really fair that being descended of an evil god lent her enemies on sides both light and dark. "I have enough bad luck to blame it on, anyhow."

"You do, at that," Edwin agreed.

* * *

Hanging the flag from its waiting window was terribly anti-climactic after that brief burst of adrenaline earlier, but no one else had any mind to stop them.

Jaheira and Minsc arrived a few minutes later.

"Well, we know they are smuggling something from the city." Jaheira frowned at the coastline. "The different colors of the flag will tell them the locations of the pick-up. Or delivery."

"And out there right now is a sailor with a telescope." Yoshimo gave a nod towards the house and its flag filling the window.

"The sewers." Sajantha hopped to her feet. "Do you suppose they'll sneak through the sewers? I bet they connect all over the city!"

"And what will you do?" Edwin drawled. "Scour the shoreline for the damp, disgusting entrance where you will lay claim to whatever goods are being transferred? Pfeh. The objective is to remain unknown to them, yes?"

"So we'll stay invisible. And follow them."

"You will be granted invisibility only at mine own discretion, and I—"

"Hush!" Jaheira gestured. "Someone comes."

A pixie-faced young woman with a sharp chin—Mook!—reached the ledge where they were standing. "Hullo, Sajantha. What can I tell me boss ye're up to?"

No mincing words here.

"We're…" Sajantha glanced back at the admittedly suspicious group behind her. "We're undercover."

"Naturally," said Mook, looking no more or less convinced. "Let's just say we know who that flag belongs to. And ye'd be doing us a favor if that someone happens to meet the morrow facedown in the bay, yeah?"

Sajantha's chest squeezed. _We're not murderers,_ she could argue, but: "Will you call off the gold?"

"The twenty thousand? Nope."

Of course it wouldn't be so easy. Even though it'd been the slimmest of hopes, her stomach still sank. "I told you: we're not murderers." Now, when it mattered not, she could take the high ground, pretending to be noble and hoping Anomen didn't notice just how low she might slip.

"Hey, me neither. Just a neighbor with a friendly suggestion, is all." She tipped her violet hood. "Be seeing ya."

"Even the wretched thieves wish him dead?" Anomen shook his head. "I… I do not know if this further condemns Anarg or exonerates him."

"Do not strain yourself." Yoshimo's suggestion was light and airy; it took Anomen a moment to narrow his eyes.

But then he was turning to Sajantha. "The money you are collecting… it is a debt to the Thieves' Guild?" His brown eyes looked… horrified?

Sajantha swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Sajantha! That you felt you had to lower yourself to such filth! I—" He gave his head a shake. "You are far too good to fall in with such folk."

"I'm not so very picky from whence comes my aid—I haven't exactly a line of people offering—and I don't wish to talk about this now." Not when the others stood listening, all with likely judgments of their own.

"Mook." She waited 'til the woman turned around. "Are they truly trading in slaves?"

Mook's head dipped in a quick nod and Sajantha took a step back. "We'll do it, then. We'll kill him."

Teeth flashed in a grin. "Try the docks on the Bridge's east side." Mook disappeared into the shadows.

Sajantha walked back to the others. She couldn't care about it. Not like she had been. It didn't have anything to do with Bhaal, if death was growing easier. It just meant she was getting stronger.

Right?

* * *

The moon shone out behind wisps of gray clouds, its light staying steady as they crossed the city towards the Bridge District and descended the staircases down towards the docks. Wood groaned in the wind and a distant bell rang.

There wasn't any ship.

But there was a man walking up and down the empty docks, a man who paused in his circuit to watch them as they neared. He stood in shadow, but for the armor glinting beneath his cloak.

"You one of Anarg's men?" Sajantha called out.

The man's hand, already hovering above his weapon, clenched around the hilt. "What's it to you?"

"We've business with him. Reynald told us to meet him here."

His gaze squinted through the darkness, searching out her companions, and he relaxed. "Aye, I remember you lot." He gestured down the dock—not so empty after all, for a tied-up rowboat waited. "I'll take you over." He eyed the boat, then eyed Minsc. "Think ye should all fit."

* * *

They climbed up into the ship— _'The Upstart'_ said the script on the bow—and found themselves surrounded by wary paladins and pirates.

"You found us." Reynald sounded more surprised than suspicious, casually waving off the most scrutinizing of the crowd; they dispersed as if he'd ordered them so, and Sajantha approached him, Yoshimo at her back.

"We didn't get to be the heroes of Baldur's Gate for nothing." Hopefully that explained enough.

"The heroes…" he repeated, but trailed off. "That's where I've heard of you." He gave his head a shake, dispelling that gleam of—regret?—and cleared his throat. "What brings you here?" He gave her that winning smile. "Couldn't wait for your payment, eh?"

"I'd like to speak with Anarg."

His forehead furrowed, but he still didn't looks suspicious—merely concerned. "He's belowdecks. But you needn't deal with him, I—"

Sajantha took a step closer, lowering her voice. "What brings _you_ here, Reynald?" This was her only chance—maybe _his_ only chance—to avoid some of the blood that would surely spill. "You shouldn't be here. Not with them."

His eyes widened in sudden understanding, but he didn't leap up and cry betrayal, didn't move at all save to let out a small laugh. "Hmph. You are to tell me I'm not like the rest of them? I belong nowhere else. They are my brothers and I theirs."

"You're different. You _are,_ because you question it."

His gaze was sorrowful. "I know what it feels like to be abandoned. I have lost the Order—I have lost my god. You would have me abandon my friends here?"

Tears pricked her eyes. "You know what they're doing isn't right. Look in your heart—you still have that—you don't need Tyr to tell you. I… I know what it's like to be abandoned, too. When you need a friend more than anything. I—I'd be your friend, Reynald. Sometimes doing the right thing means you do it alone. But you needn't be alone."

Lips thin, Reynald looked out over the ocean. "I will think on what you've said."

"That's all I ask." Sajantha wiped at her eyes. It would come to blood. But that fate needn't be his.

She turned, almost colliding with Yoshimo but for his quick feet; he gave her an indiscernible look, but put a hand on her shoulder as she stepped down the stairs.

Her friends followed quietly behind her, apparently none in the mood for mocking. And Reynald, he'd not followed them. Surely that meant there was hope for him!

For all the hold was deserted, the smell of human bodies, of human sick, of human waste, swelled a stink that nearly made her sick herself. Goosebumps prickled along Sajantha's skin along with the truth that tickled at her mind. _People died here._

What was in these barrels? No—what _used_ to be in the hold. Metal clanked beneath her boot and Sajantha glanced down. Rusted cuffs and… chains?

"This is a slave ship." It shouldn't have surprised her, but somehow being in the hold of a slave ship—in the dark, in the thick air—made her feel small and trapped; she took a step back.

"Indeed." The voice—right behind her!—made her jump before she whirled around.

This man had none of Reynald's good-natured liveliness, no; with shadows carving out his high cheekbones and narrow nose, the leader of the fallen paladins almost looked skeletal in the torchlight.

"Anarg, I presume," came Jaheira's voice.

"And you are the 'mercenaries' Reynald dug up." His gaze roamed across them, eyes too flat to reveal an expression. "If you have a problem with slaves, best say so, my dear."

There wasn't any reason to waste words with him, not really. Not when he'd as much as admitted to being a slaver. Not when her friends were close and her blades closer.

"Not slaves. Slavers." Light flashed in the gloom as she withdrew her sword. "We're taking over this ship."

Anomen stepped to her side. "And taking you and your rats before the Council."

Anarg's own blade was out.

"Swords, not words!" Minsc's hearty approval roared in her ears, preceding the chaos that exploded around them as the fallen paladins engaged, spurred by Anarg's holler.

"They're coming down the stairs!" Sajantha cried out, and Jaheira broke off to protect their flank, her staff whirling.

Sajantha grit her teeth and ducked back as Anomen leapt forward, catching Anarg's blow on his shield.

"If you cannot meet justice on your knees, it shall be plunged into your heart where it belongs!" Anomen's words were punctuated with a swing that clashed against his opponent's sword. Their blades shook with effort, both pushing, both resisting.

 _Do something._

Anomen suddenly stepped forward, his bowed head snapping up—there was a crack—and Anarg's head jerked back, blood arcing from his nose. His neck was open. Not that she was at an angle to slit through it, so much taller was he. _Do something!_

Sajantha jumped forward, thrusting her blade upward, and it sank with ease through the soft flesh behind his jawbone. Up and up 'til it met resistance—now blood was leaking out—and she looked away from his face collapsing and met Anomen's surprised gaze.

"Nice move," she said, gesturing to her nose, and Anomen gave a stiff nod. "Same… same to you." 'Twas easy to hear his voice now that the sounds of battle had died down. Not so easy to hear just what was _in_ his voice.

The smell of burned flesh reached her nose, so Edwin hadn't missed the opportunity to fling spells at paladins, former or no. She turned to see Minsc cleaning his sword, and Yoshimo gathering arrows, while Jaheira murmured a prayer to her god.

"Do you suppose this made Helm happy?" Sajantha wondered, glancing down at the corpses they'd collected. He wasn't the god of death, after all.

"Justice is done." Anomen wiped off his sword. "Let it lie."

Jaheira gave a slight nod. "The land mourns not their loss."

"I'm not mourning anyone!" Sajantha snapped. No, that wasn't the problem. But there was always a problem, wasn't there? Surely it was wrong to feel… _satisfied_ with their deaths. To feel relieved that Reynald alone might have escaped the carnage.

She didn't look back through the shadows to Edwin, though she could just see the silhouette of his shoulders behind Yoshimo.

They stepped around the bodies, up the stairs, and the cool night air swept over them like a gentle kiss, so at odds with the miasma downstairs. Sajantha took in a deep breath and glanced up at the moon, finding its reflection in the waters below.

"Check the rest of the ship," Edwin was ordering, though she didn't turn around.

Between them and the docks, a small boat bobbed in the distance, waves breaking against its dark shape. _Reynald!_ It had to be him; he hadn't been among the bodies. Her heart soared.

A flame whistled past her ear, shrinking to a single point of light as it shot across the black water, then erupting in a burst. After the flare of light—nothing. No rowboat.

Sajantha spun around, eyes immediately seeking red. "Upon my word," she spat. _"Not without my word!"_

Nothing to suggest he'd done aught to feel guilty over, but Edwin did almost look surprised—whether at her words or her ire, who knew.

Hands clenched on the railing, Sajantha stared out into the waves, feeling a sickness in her stomach that had nothing to do with the motion of the ship.

"Just another slaver," Anomen said or mayhap Edwin did; her ears weren't working right and wasn't it just awful enough that they both thought that way, that she must think that way too or go mad.

* * *

 **[Author's Note]:** _Thanks to Kyn once again for proofreading - and for the inspiration for Yoshimo's little adventure. xD_


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